The Scoundrel’s Daughter by Anne Gracie
Chapter Nine
Alice sat at her desk, doing the accounts, as she did at the end of each month. She’d always done the domestic household accounts—Thaddeus considered them women’s work; he’d dealt with everything else. His allowance to her for the household had never been generous, and Alice had been taught by her mother to keep strict account of everything.
After Thaddeus died and the extent of his personal debts was discovered, Alice had worked hard to clear herself of debt and bring everything back into balance. But now the money Bamber had given her for Lucy’s expenses was all gone, and she was sliding once more into debt.
She hadn’t been extravagant; the money had mostly gone on clothing and shoes—and Alice didn’t begrudge a penny of it. A young lady entering the marriage mart needed to look stylish and fashionable if she were to have any success—and everything depended on Lucy marrying well.
Both she and Lucy were used to making ends meet, and Miss Chance, too, had done her best, designing several evening dresses with removable gauze overdresses so that three dresses could become nine. And wherever possible, Alice had lent Lucy shawls, hats, gloves and other accessories.
Neither of them wore much jewelry, either. The pearls Lucy had worn that first day were so obviously false it was better to wear nothing. In any case, Lucy favored a pretty gold locket her mother had owned.
Bamber had promised to send Alice more money, but none had been forthcoming. And with no way to contact him, it didn’t look promising.
Alice closed the account book, locked it away in her desk and went looking for Lucy.
She found her, as usual, in the garden, under her favorite tree, the big old plane tree, with her sketchbook. Seeing Alice coming, she hastily shut it. Whether she actually ever did any drawing, or whether it was a ploy to enjoy some free time, Alice didn’t know. Lucy had never offered to show her drawings to Alice, and Alice didn’t want to pry.
“Lucy dear, I’ve been wondering about those five schools you attended.”
Lucy said cautiously, “What about them?”
“Why did you leave?” There was a short silence. Lucy shifted uncomfortably and avoided her eyes. Alice added gently, “It wasn’t because you misbehaved, was it?”
Lucy swallowed. “No.”
“Was it something to do with money?”
Lucy nodded.
“Every time?”
Again, Lucy gave a shamefaced nod. Alice felt a sharp spurt of anger at the father who had consistently put his growing daughter in such an invidious position. She hadn’t intended to press Lucy any further, but suddenly out it all came.
“He always picked the most exclusive schools he could get me into—he lied, you know, giving me grand imaginary relations. And he was always very openhanded with money at the start.” As he had been with Alice.
“But the money always ran out,” Lucy continued bitterly. “It was so embarrassing. The headmistress would call me down for little talks in her office—whatever address Papa had given her no longer worked. Her letters and bills were returned. It was so uncomfortable—none of them ever believed that I knew as much as they did about Papa’s whereabouts.”
“So what happened then?”
“They gave me jobs to do to pay my way: helping in the kitchen, looking after the younger pupils, cleaning—you name it.”
Alice cringed on her behalf. The snobbish girls would have shown her no mercy at her fall in status. No wonder Lucy hated “ladies.”
“But your father always came for you in the end.”
Lucy nodded. “Usually weeks later. He’d swan in with no apology, declare his daughter ‘too good for this rubbishy institution’ and announce that he was withdrawing me to place me in a much better school.” She grimaced. “Which he did.”
“And the same thing happened again.” It wasn’t really a question. Five different schools, and each time, nothing at the end but humiliation for Lucy. Alice had no doubt that this had also happened with the Austrian opera singer and the French comtesse. And now her.
“Yes.” A slight breeze rustled the leaves. Lucy folded her arms and shivered, although it wasn’t cold. After a minute she turned and faced Alice. “The money’s run out, hasn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so,” Alice said regretfully. “Of course, your father might be arranging to send more even now—”
“He won’t. He never does. He flashes it around at the start, but that’s it.” There was a long silence, then she took a deep breath. “I suppose you want me to leave now.”
“Of course I don’t,” Alice said indignantly. “You forget, I made a vow when I became your godmother.”
Lucy said dully, “Yes, but that wasn’t real. It was just one of Papa’s schemes.”
“It was real to me. I made a promise before God, and I meant every word.”
Lucy stared at her a moment, then her confusion cleared. “Oh, of course—the blackmail. I’d forgotten for a moment. You can’t afford to let me go.”
“It’s not that at all. Of course I am worried about what your father will do with the letters, but it’s your father I blame, not you. Money or not, you are staying right here.”
Lucy bit her lip, then took Alice’s hands in hers. “I’m so sorry for all this trouble, Alice. I promise you, I’ll find a husband as fast as I can and get out of your way” She took a deep breath and added, “I’ll even marry a lord if you can find one who’ll have me.”
Alice would have laughed if the poor girl wasn’t so bitterly ashamed and in earnest. “There’s no need to go that far,” she said in a bracing voice. “Blackmail or not, I’m not letting you go to anyone but a gentleman who will love and cherish you as you deserve to be loved and cherished.”
Lucy’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “You are so good to me, Alice. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You don’t need to thank me. We might have started off badly, but my life was quite drab and uneventful when we first met. Now scarcely a day goes by without something exciting happening, and I’ve met all sorts of interesting and unusual people.”
Lucy gave a cynical snort. “Blackmailers, liars—”
“Yes, indeed, not to mention poets, pedants and passionate pig breeders.”
It surprised a reluctant laugh out of Lucy. “You can blame your nephew for those ones.”
“Oh, believe me, I do. But my point is, your coming to live with me has brightened my life immeasurably. And despite the difficulties—and the blackmail—I’ve enjoyed it more than I would have believed possible. In fact”—she linked her arm through Lucy’s—“I’ve come to love you like a daughter. So I won’t hear another word about your leaving—unless it’s on the arm of a handsome, thoroughly besotted man. Now, shall we go in and see what Mrs. Tweed is preparing for luncheon?”
“Oh, Alice.” Lucy’s eyes flooded with tears and she hugged Alice tightly. “No one has ever been as good to me as you, and yet you have every reason to hate me.”
Alice hugged her back. “Nonsense. You’ve done nothing to be blamed for, and besides, there’s enough hate in the world. I refuse to add to it. Now come along and wipe your eyes. It’s time for luncheon!”
* * *
After luncheon, Alice called on her nephew at his lodgings. It was one thing to refuse to allow Lord Tarrant to help her when it was just about the blackmail. But to let Bamber abandon his daughter to poverty and humiliation again? No indeed. She wanted the wretched man tracked down and called to account.
And if that was at the expense of her own dignity, so be it.
“You’ve made the right decision, Aunt Alice,” Gerald said when she explained.
She’d given him her permission to take Lord Tarrant into his confidence and was still feeling quite hollow and a bit sick at the thought of Tarrant’s reaction. But it had to be done. Bamber had left her with no choice.
“When do you think you’ll speak to him?”
“Tarrant? Oh straight away, I should think.” Seeing her surprise, he added, “He arrived in London last evening—I saw his carriage pull up outside Tarrant House last night and three little girls tumble out. He’s had plenty of time to get himself and his daughters settled in.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I’ll call on him this evening.”
* * *
It was well after the dinner hour. James’s girls were tucked up in bed under the supervision of Nanny McCubbin, who’d arrived in London before them and had taken control of not only the nursery but also the whole house, apparently. The servants jumped to her command. The girls were reserving judgment, but as their former headmistress had said, they knew how to follow orders. James had every faith in Nanny McCubbin.
He was in the library sipping brandy by the fire, having a quiet night in, when young Thornton dropped by. Over a brandy, Thornton explained his aunt’s problem, after first swearing James to secrecy.
“And you say this villain is using these letters to blackmail Lady Charlton?” James said.
“Yes.”
“Do you know what’s in them?”
Thornton shook his head. “She wouldn’t say. Just that they were very personal and private, and she would be devastated if they were made public.”
Love letters, then, James thought. It surprised him. She didn’t seem the type to conduct an illicit affair. He couldn’t deny that he felt a little disappointed. It wasn’t the impression he’d had of her.
Still, she was in trouble, and he’d agreed to help.
“What have you done so far to track him down?”
Thornton outlined everything he’d done, ending with, “He’s a slippery damned weasel.”
“And are we sure that Miss Bamber isn’t involved? She’s not hiding her father’s whereabouts, for instance.”
Thornton pursed his lips. “Aunt Alice is convinced that Miss Bamber is as much a victim as she is, but I’m not so sure. What kind of man would blackmail a stranger to take in his daughter and then give her no way of contacting him? It’s not credible. What if something went wrong? Bamber has no way of knowing that Aunt Alice has a heart as soft as butter.”
James nodded. It did seem most unlikely.
“Did you question Lady Charlton’s butler?”
“About any letters posted? Yes, but Tweed said Miss Bamber hasn’t left any to be posted. I suppose she could have posted something herself, but she goes nowhere unaccompanied, so it would be quite difficult to slip away and contact her father.”
But needs must, James thought. His eleven-year-old daughter had managed to get a letter to him, even if she’d been caught doing it. Or maybe, as things stood at the moment, Miss Bamber felt no need to contact her father.
“You seem to have done everything possible to find the man,” James said. “What do you think I can do?”
Thornton looked a little self-conscious. “I was thinking that fellow you know in the Horse Guards—Radcliffe, isn’t it?—might be able to help.”
James considered it. Radcliffe didn’t usually involve himself in private matters like this, but he supposed there was no harm in asking his advice. He knew people, did Radcliffe.
“There’s no guarantee he’ll be able to help.”
Thornton nodded. “I know, but I’d feel better knowing we have explored every possible avenue. Alice is a good person. She doesn’t deserve to be under someone’s thumb like this. Not now, when she’s finally free.”
Finally free.An interesting turn of phrase to use about a relatively recent widow, James thought.
“What can you tell me about her marriage?” Thornton hesitated, and James added, “It would seem to have a bearing on the blackmail.”
Thornton acknowledged the truth of that with a long sigh. “Uncle Thaddeus was . . . I think he was a bit of bully.”
“Think?” James remembered him from school. He was a nasty piece of work back then.
Gerald wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “The thing is, he could be quite charming in public. The ladies seemed to love him. But the way he treated my father—Papa was a younger son, you know, and Uncle Thaddeus used to, I don’t know, rub Papa’s nose in it. Papa was dependent on him for everything—he’d been left nothing in Grandpapa’s will—but Grandpapa expected Uncle Thaddeus to make over one of the lesser estates to Papa’s management and use. That’s the way it’s always been done in our family. Only Uncle Thaddeus didn’t.”
James could see that the issue rankled. From what he gathered, Thornton’s father had done exactly the same to Thornton as his uncle had done to him. But that wasn’t the issue that concerned him at the moment. “And how did your uncle treat his wife?”
“He wasn’t . . . kind. When there was only family present, he treated her, oh, like a servant. Dismissively. As if she didn’t matter. Quite cruelly at times.”
James stiffened. “Physically?”
Thornton shook his head. “I don’t think so.” His lack of certainty set James’s teeth on edge. “It was a different kind of cruelty, like a cat toying with a mouse. Embarrassing her, making cutting comments, humiliating her in front of others.”
James’s hands closed into fists. To treat such a gentle lady so . . .
“For instance, he never lost an opportunity to belittle her, especially in front of my mother. Alice is barren, you know, and I don’t recall a single occasion when Uncle Thaddeus didn’t mention the fact, directly or indirectly. He had a very cutting tongue.”
“Why particularly in front of your mother?”
Thornton gave a shamefaced grimace. “Mama used to encourage him. She’s never liked Aunt Alice, I don’t know why. It’s not fair. Alice doesn’t deserve any of it; she’s the kindest person.”
There was a short silence. James thought that Thornton was probably wondering the same thing he was: If Charlton had been openly cruel to his wife in company, what must he have been like in private?
“But if she did have a lover,” Thornton burst out, as if he’d been having a silent argument with himself, “I, for one, don’t blame her. She deserved some happiness in her life. Didn’t she? Well, didn’t she?”
His words hung in the air. James didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what he thought about it at the moment. He was appalled by what Thornton had told him about her marriage. But infidelity? His emotions were all over the place.
“Any idea who this lover might have been?”
Thornton shook his head. “I don’t think I ever even saw her with a man, except at balls and parties. But that doesn’t prove anything, I suppose.”
“I don’t really care about the lover,” James said, surprising himself, “but if we knew who he was, we could follow him up. He must surely know something about Bamber, if he gave—or sold—him the letters.” And if he did hand over private love letters from Lady Charlton, the man deserved a damned good thrashing.
“So will you speak to Radcliffe?”
“Yes, I’ll call on him tomorrow. Do you want to come?”
“Of course.” They made arrangements to meet the next morning, then Thornton thanked him and left. James poured himself another brandy and pondered the question of Lady Charlton and her secret lover.
He couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. But that was foolish. At his age, he should know better than to put people on pedestals.
So she was human. But he’d stake everything he owned that she wasn’t a wanton. In fact he’d thought her quite shy of men. He’d flirted with her in the mildest way, and she’d practically run a mile.
And as far as he could see, she made no effort to encourage the attentions of other men. Quite the contrary.
So if she’d had a secret lover—and he wasn’t sure of that, though what else could those letters be about?—it must have been for love, rather than the boredom or neglect that drove many wives to infidelity. And given the shameful way her husband had treated her, who could blame her for that?
It was a mystery. But it wasn’t going to hold him back from doing everything he could to help her.
And did this revelation of her past change how he felt about her? Did it make him want her any less? He swirled the last of his brandy, inhaled the potent fumes and considered the question.
The answer he found was, quite clearly, no. Well, then . . .
* * *
The following day Lord Tarrant sent a note to Alice, informing her he was back in London and adding that he was looking forward to introducing her to his daughters.
Alice read the note through several times, looking for some hidden meaning, but there was none. She responded with a note inviting him and his daughters to afternoon tea the day afterward.
As soon as it had gone, she felt absurdly nervous. She was being ridiculous, she told herself. A daytime visit by three small girls and their father was nothing to be nervous about. Besides, Lucy would be there.
She’d thought of him far too often for her peace of mind, the image of his tall person and those mesmerizing gray eyes popping up in her thoughts at odd moments throughout the day. And especially at night.
But it was ridiculous to imagine she’d missed him. She hardly knew him.
He’d made it clear that he just wanted friendship from her, she reminded herself. Friendship! Which suited her perfectly.
But did friendship mean the same thing to him that it did to her? There were times when she’d noticed an intense look in his eyes that seemed to indicate more than just friendship. It was that look that disturbed her, and generated unsettling feelings in her, feelings she’d never had before, sometimes when he wasn’t even there. Feelings that seemed to be guiding her to the edge of some unknown cliff.
Oh, what nonsense. She was a mature woman, past her prime, and he knew she wasn’t interested in marrying again. She’d also made it plain to him that she wasn’t the kind of widow who’d welcome men to her bed. It was just afternoon tea, for heaven’s sake.
Mrs. Tweed was thrilled when Alice told her there would be a gentleman and three small girls coming for afternoon tea. She immediately went into a frenzy of baking plans, which only exacerbated Alice’s nerves. “Whatever you think best, Mrs. Tweed. I’m sure you’ll do us proud,” she said and scuttled out of the kitchen in fine cowardly form.
* * *
The day of the visit by Lord Tarrant and his children dawned clear and sunny. Lucy was up early and disappeared into the garden, as she did most mornings. Delicious scents floated from the kitchen, as did the sound of singing, loud and slightly off-key. Mrs. Tweed was in a good mood. Children in the house, at last.
Alice pushed that thought from her mind. It wasn’t a reproach. Mrs. Tweed was just happy. She liked children, and she enjoyed baking. And it was a lovely day, and not too hot.
Tweed, too, had been fussing around all morning, making sure everything was in perfect order. Fresh flowers in the hallway and drawing room. Floors polished and smelling faintly of beeswax, cushions plumped, windows washed, the silverware shining—all days before the usual household routine.
One would imagine the King was coming to call.
As the time grew closer, Alice dithered about what to wear. She didn’t want to appear to be dressing up for him. She wasn’t dressing up for him. It was just an ordinary afternoon visit. With small children, who would no doubt end up with sticky hands from the delicacies that Mrs. Tweed was making.
But she didn’t want to look drab, either. Neat and quietly à la mode would do, she finally decided, then emptied her wardrobe looking for something neat but not too stylish. She finally settled on one of her old mourning dresses, a dove gray dimity frock. It was a little on the drab side, but if there were any doubt about her intentions, it would send a subtle message. She was not trying to attract.
Her maid, Mary, eyed the chosen dress disapprovingly. “You’re not wearing that, are you, m’lady? Not for afternoon tea with his lordship and the little girls.” Clearly Alice’s entire household was taking a very different view of the purpose behind the visit.
“Yes, Mary, I am. I don’t know why everyone is making a fuss. We have visitors for afternoon tea all the time.”
Mary sniffed, and fastened the dress with an expressionless face that fooled Alice not at all. “At least wear this, m’lady,” she said, draping a lacy cream shawl around Alice’s shoulders.
Alice pushed it off. “No, I don’t like wearing shawls when taking tea. They always slide off me.” Or the ends fell into her teacup.
“Then what about this?” Mary brought out a three-quarter-sleeved, dark-cherry-pink spencer. It was an old favorite, and Alice had almost forgotten she owned it, but she had to admit it suited the dress perfectly, without making her feel as though she’d gone to any special effort. She gazed at her reflection in the looking glass and nodded. It would do.
* * *
Alice paced restlessly around the drawing room awaiting the arrival of Lord Tarrant and his children, and she was rearranging the flowers for the fifth time when Tweed knocked on the door.
“This communication just arrived, m’lady.” He held a silver salver, on which sat a letter. “Delivered by an Unknown Person. I found it slipped under the door. Shall I burn it, or do you want to read it?” His expression made his own preference clear.
Alice held out her hand. “No, I’ll read it. You didn’t see who delivered it?”
“No, m’lady.”
Tweed retreated. Alice could think of only one person who would send her a letter by such means. She broke open the seal, unfolded the letter and another piece of paper fell out. She picked it up, set it aside and read the letter. Just as she thought, it was from Bamber.
Lady Charlton,
I am extremely disappointed. So far my daughter has been seen being escorted by various undistinguished Misters, one Viscount—your own nephew—but no Earls or Dukes. It is Not Good Enough. I made it Very Clear to you that she is to marry a Titled Man. To refresh your memory of our agreement, I have enclosed a Reminder—a copy only. I hold all the originals.
Octavius Bamber, esq.
She unfolded the enclosed paper and glanced at the contents. Bile rose in her throat. She crumpled the copy in her fist. She did not need to read the whole thing. She remembered the occasion . . .
She walked over to the fireplace and threw the letter in the fire. She watched as it briefly flamed then slowly turned to ash. Oh, that all her problems could so easily be destroyed.
But what to do?
She is to marry a Titled Man . . .
It seemed she’d been unduly optimistic in assuming that Bamber’s main desire was to see his daughter settled securely and happily. This letter made it clear that all he cared about was a title.
If only the wretched man had called in person, she would have talked to him, tried to convince him that Lucy’s happiness mattered more than any title. But he’d probably paid some urchin to deliver the letter. He must know that the money he’d given her for Lucy’s expenses had run out by now.
She had promised not to force Lucy into an unwelcome marriage and she utterly refused to break that promise. And since Lucy was as determined as ever to eschew lords, it was more important than ever that Bamber’s hiding place was found and the letters retrieved and destroyed. He had, after all, broken his side of the agreement by not providing her with the money he’d said he would.
She sat down and penned a quick note to Gerald, then drank a cup of coffee to brace her nerves.
Octavius Bamber would not ruin her day.
* * *
Lord Tarrant and his daughters arrived right on time. He introduced Alice and Lucy to each girl in turn, starting with the oldest, Judith. She curtsied and greeted Alice with faint reserve, as if wondering just who Alice was and what their relationship was to be. Or maybe Alice was ascribing her own foolish imaginings to the child.
Simple friendship, she reminded herself.
The next daughter, Lina, also curtsied—it was clear the girls had been well trained—and murmured her greetings in a shy almost-whisper. She was a pretty child with blonde hair and wide blue eyes, and Alice wondered if she resembled her late mother. Judith’s gray eyes obviously came from her father, but otherwise there was no strong resemblance.
Of the three girls, the littlest, Deborah, looked most like him, with curly dark hair and wide gray eyes. She bobbed a quick, crooked curtsy and rattled off, “HowdoyoudoLadyCharltonMissBamber.” She glanced cautiously at her father, then added, “Yougotacat?”
Lord Tarrant gave Alice a look that was half amusement, half apology.
Alice gave a rueful smile. “Why, no, I’m sorry, Deborah. I’m afraid we haven’t.”
“Oh.” The small person scowled.
“There’s one that’s often in the garden,” Lucy said. “I’m not sure who it belongs to, but I often see it out there. A ginger tom, very friendly and well fed, so it obviously belongs to someone.”
Deborah’s eyes lit up. “Can we go see?” Judith nudged her, and Deborah added, “Pleeeeease.”
Lucy glanced at Alice for permission. Alice raised a brow in query at the children’s father. He sighed and nodded, “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” Lucy assured him. “It’s a glorious day. Shame to waste it by being inside. Come along girls.” She whisked all three girls away, leaving Alice alone in the drawing room with Lord Tarrant. Which had not been the plan. At all.
Those smoky-gray eyes . . .
She invited him to sit. “Sherry?”
“No, thank you.”
“Your daughters are charming.”
“Even ‘Yougotacat?’ Debo?”
She laughed. “She does seem rather more interested in cats than people.”
His eyes crinkled with amusement. “It was practically the first thing she said to me when we met. And now the first thing she says to me each morning is ‘Wegettingthatkittentoday?’ Which she repeats at intervals throughout the day.” His mouth quirked. “At that first meeting I did mention a vague possibility of getting a kitten. How was I to know she’d take it as a sacred oath signed in blood—my blood.”
Alice laughed.
“In my defense,” he added, “I had no idea quite how determined a person that small could be. She’s utterly relentless.” It was clear he adored the little despot.
“So are you going to get her a kitten?”
“Of course, if only to save my own sanity.” He gave a snort of amusement. “The headmistress of the school she was at told me that Debo had been checking the kitchen cat every day, waiting for it to give birth. ‘It’ being a very fat tom.”
She chuckled.
“The difficulty is in finding suitable kittens in London. It seems very few kittens are allowed to grow to a size ready to be given away—most people, unless they want one for themselves, drown them at birth.”
“Oh dear. How very sad for the mother cats—and the kittens, of course,” she added. Thaddeus had never allowed her any kind of pet. It suddenly occurred to her that she could have a cat or a dog now—in fact she could fill the house with pets if she wanted.
It was odd how these random reflections kept popping into her mind. She supposed after eighteen years of having the law laid down to her—and in a way the eighteen years before that had been just as strict, though Papa’s law had been slightly more benevolent—she was only just getting used to her freedom.
She suddenly became aware that he was looking at her with a quizzical expression. “What?” she said.
“You went away, somewhere else. Somewhere not very pleasant, I suspect.” His voice held no criticism or accusation, just a quiet observation.
She felt herself blushing. “Sorry, I was just . . . just thinking about cats and keeping pets. I’ve never had one.”
“Never? Don’t you like animals.”
“Oh, I always wanted one—a dog rather than a cat, but I would have been happy with either.”
“Then why did you never get one?”
“My father didn’t approve of unnecessary animals—which was his definition of a pet—and my husband didn’t like them, either. Cats made him sneeze.”
“They make me sneeze, too.”
“And yet you’re going to get one?” she said in surprise.
His mouth twisted with wry humor. “Of course. Can you imagine my little ‘Yougotacat?’ Debo being happy without one? What are a few sneezes compared with the happiness of my daughter?”
Alice swallowed, touched by his complete willingness to endure discomfort for the sake of his child’s pleasure. For a moment, she couldn’t say anything.
He gazed back at her, his eyes darkening. His eyes dropped to her mouth, then he leaned forward, his expression suddenly intense. “Lady Charlton,” he began.
At that moment the clock in the hall chimed the half hour. Alice jumped, suddenly tense, though why she had no idea. “Speaking of your daughters,” she said hastily, “we’d better go and see what they’re up to. My cook has been preparing a feast to delight a little girl’s heart, and I’d hate us to be late.”
With a rueful look, he rose and held out a hand to help her up. She took it without thinking, though of course she could rise perfectly well unaided.
Neither of them wore gloves, and as they touched, skin to skin, a shiver ran through her: it wasn’t at all unpleasant. Quite the contrary. She released his hand and brushed her skirt down self-consciously.
“Through here.” She led the way to the back gate and the garden.
Lord Tarrant paused at the gate, his gaze taking in the wide expanse of greenery, the winding pathways, bright flower beds and mature trees. “Good lord, I had no idea there was such a large garden behind all these houses. There is no indication of it from the street, though now, I come to think of it, you can see a few treetops. It’s your own private park, isn’t it?”
“Yes, the garden is the reason my maternal grandmother bought the house. She was a countrywoman at heart, but my grandfather was much involved in politics and had to live in London for a good part of the year. This was their compromise.
“I share it with the other house owners.” She gestured to the houses that enclosed the garden square. “Several are owned by the Earl of Salcott, who lives in that large house on the corner. The old earl recently died, so I suppose his son will be taking over. Otherwise few people seem to use the garden except as a backdrop. Lucy comes out here most mornings and says she rarely sees anyone other than the occasional gardener.”
“It’s a beautiful retreat. You’re very lucky.”
“Believe me, I am very aware of it, and very grateful to Grandmama for leaving me the house in her will. Now, shall we seek out your daughters and Lucy?”
“Yes, of course.” He presented his arm, and after a brief hesitation, Alice placed her hand on it. It was warm and strong, and she tried not to be aware of it.
They walked the various pathways, looking for the children, but there was no sign of them. “They can’t wander off,” Alice assured him. “The garden is very secure, and the only exits are through the private houses that enclose the garden. And Lucy is with them.”
He smiled down at her. “I’m not worried. I’m enjoying our time together.”
They rounded a corner and saw a small figure standing alone beneath a large, spreading plane tree, staring up apparently talking to the tree. “That’s Lina.” Lord Tarrant picked up his pace. “What’s she doing on her own?”
They hurried up to her. “Lina, what’s the matter?” he said. The little girl turned, her face distraught. “I’m s-s-sorry, Papa,” she said. “I t-t-tried.” She burst into tears.
Without hesitation her father scooped her up into his arms. Lina clung to him, sobbing and trying to explain in jerky, incoherent phrases. Murmuring soothing reassurances, he held her, smoothing back her hair and rubbing her back while the little girl sobbed herself out.
The sobs slowed, but remnants kept coming in jerky bursts. Lord Tarrant pulled out a handkerchief and dried her face. “Now, do you think you can tell me what has upset you so?”
“I t-tried to s-stop them . . . but D-Debo . . . the cat . . .” She clung to his neck like a little limpet. “P-p-lease don’t send us awaaaay, Papa. We’re not hy-hydons. Truly we’re not.”
“Hydens?” Alice wondered. She glanced up into the tree and saw three faces looking worriedly down. Four faces, actually—Lucy’s, Judy’s and little Deborah’s, and in her arms, a furry-faced ginger cat.
Over the shoulder of his sobbing daughter, Lord Tarrant glanced at Alice, sending her a silent message of apology. She directed her glance upward, and he followed her gaze, closed his eyes briefly and nodded in understanding.
“Hush now, Lina,” he murmured, his voice deep and reassuring. “Of course I’m not going to send you away. I’ve just got you back.”
“P-p-promise?” Lina choked. “Even if we’re h-hydens?”
“Even if you’re hoydens, I promise.” Lord Tarrant dried the fresh burst of tears. “Now stop crying and listen to me, Lina.” He took her chin in his hand and made her look at him.
She inhaled a jagged breath and eyed him with wide, tear-drenched eyes, her mouth trembling.
In a clear, firm voice, audible to the listeners in the trees, he said, “Selina Louise Tarrant, I hereby promise you that I will never send you or your sisters away, no matter what you’ve done. Do you understand me?”
The little girl nodded.
“Good. Now, I suppose all this upset is because your sisters—and Miss Bamber—climbed this tree.”
Lina nodded. “It’s very unladylike. Only the veriest hydens climb trees—hydens are very bad girls. And before, when Grandmama caught us . . .”
“I know, you were sent away to school,” her father said. Alice’s brows shot up. Lord Tarrant nodded in grim acknowledgement. “But that’s never going to happen again.”
He looked up at the other three girls in the tree. “Let me guess, that cat was up the tree.”
Debo nodded and clutched the cat tighter. “He was lonely.”
“More like trying to escape my little monster,” Lord Tarrant murmured to Alice. “And you others followed?”
“It’s my fault, Lord Tarrant,” Lucy called down. “I encouraged the girls to climb the tree. I often sit up here to read. It’s very peaceful. I didn’t realize it was forbidden. I’m sorry. Please don’t blame the girls.”
“It’s very unladylike,” Lina repeated, parrotlike. “Isn’t it, Lady Charlton?”
Lord Tarrant turned to Alice, his eyes glinting with humor. “Well, is it, Lady Charlton?” Alice looked from him to the tear-stained child in his arms.
“Some people might think so, but I think it’s perfectly acceptable for young ladies to climb trees, especially in the privacy of their own garden,” she said firmly.
“Or a friend’s garden,” Lord Tarrant prompted.
“Or a friend’s garden,” she agreed.
“And it’s not hydenish?” Lina breathed.
“It’s not in the least hoydenish,” Alice said. “In fact, when I was your age, I spent many happy hours sitting in the apple tree at home. Of course, if I’d thrown apples at anyone, that would have been hoydenish. Naturally, I didn’t do any such thing.”
Lina nodded solemnly. “No, because you’re a lady—Lady Charlton.”
Alice regarded her thoughtfully. “No, Lina, the ‘Lady’ in my name is just a title, like Miss or Mrs. Any girl, no matter what her background, can become a lady—it’s all in how you behave and how you treat others. Of course, a lady should consider the feelings of others, but otherwise she can do whatever she wants, as long as it doesn’t hurt anybody else.”
Lina regarded her with wide, solemn eyes, absorbing that. Alice glanced up at the girls in the tree and saw that Lucy had also received the message. Good.
“And is it only young girls who can climb trees, Lady Charlton?” Lord Tarrant asked smoothly, his eyes dancing. It was a dare, plain and simple.
Alice had no desire whatsoever to climb a tree. It had been years since she’d even tried, and even as a young girl, she didn’t often do it. One could tear one’s clothes for a start, and new clothes weren’t easily come by at the vicarage.
On the other hand, there was this tall, handsome devil with a look in his eyes that made her itch to take up his unspoken challenge. And a tear-stained little girl looking to her for reassurance, with an expression that almost broke Alice’s heart.
All her life, Alice had strived to please others and do what she was told was “the right thing.” And where had it gotten her? Endlessly trying to please others, and finding it a thankless task. Did she really want to set this earnest little girl on the same path?
She made up her mind. “Turn your back,” she told Lord Tarrant.
He promptly did a military-style about-face that made Lina, still in his arms, giggle. The little girl squirmed around and watched Alice over his shoulder.
Luckily the tree was an old one, and unlike most of the plane trees in London’s streets and parks, it had never been pruned or pollarded. The trunk was broad and lumpy with handholds and branches sticking out. The larger branches began about three feet off the ground.
Alice carefully gathered the skirts of her dress, thanking the impulse that had caused her to wear an old dress she didn’t particularly care for. She rolled the skirt and petticoat up and tucked them into the waist of her drawers.
She eyed the tree cautiously. It was going to be a bit of a scramble. Four pairs of eyes—five if you counted the cat—watched her eagerly. Why had she ever agreed to do this mad thing?
“Need a hand?” a tall devil with his back to her murmured.
“Not in the least.” She took a deep breath and started with a jump, to reach the first branch she judged strong enough to support her. It was so thick, it was hard to hold on to. As she stretched up, she heard a ripping sound. A cool breeze under her arm told her she’d ripped a seam in her spencer. Too bad. She wasn’t going to stop now. It was an old spencer, and seams could be resewn.
Scrabbling with her feet to gain purchase on the lumpiest part of the trunk, she tried to swing her leg up to hook it over the first big branch. Once, twice . . . she almost managed it, then suddenly a large warm hand placed itself on her bottom and shoved—Alice squeaked with indignation—and there she was, sitting on the branch.
She glared down at him, her cheeks on fire, and not just from the effort of climbing. Her whole body was hot and flustered. Even her bottom was blushing—she could feel it. “You, you—”
“Helped, yes, I know.” He was grinning. “It’s not against the rules, is it?”
It was very much against the rules of gentlemanly behavior—watching her climb in her drawers when she’d told him to turn his back. As for putting his hand on her bottom! Her almost-naked bottom! She could still feel the warm imprint of it on her skin.
She so wanted to ring a peal over his head, but she couldn’t do it in front of his daughters—and he knew it, the rogue.
“Can you go on from there by yourself?” he asked with a solicitude that didn’t fool her for a moment. His eyes gave him away every time. He was enjoying this.
She stood and scrambled up to the next branch, pulling and heaving. Riiip! The second sleeve of her spencer went. Ladies’ clothing was not designed for energetic activities like climbing trees. Or even raising their arms.
The girls above called encouragement and advice, and slowly Alice climbed until, panting but triumphant, she finally seated herself on a broad, thick branch well above Lord Tarrant’s head. He looked up, grinning. She wished she had an apple to throw at him. But by her own account that would be hoydenish.
It might be fun to be a hoyden. All her life she’d been so well behaved. How dull. But it was another of those possibilities that now stretched temptingly before her.
She looked across and found Lucy and Judy grinning at her. Debo’s whole attention was on the rather martyred-looking ginger cat clutched firmly in her arms.
Down below, Lord Tarrant was lifting Lina up to the first branch. “Go on now, Lina, up to Lady Charlton with you.”
The little girl scrambled up the tree far quicker and with less effort than Alice had. She plonked herself down on Alice’s branch and smiled shyly up at her. “We’re two ladies in a tree,” Lina said excitedly.
Alice shook her head. “No.” She indicated the others above them. “We’re five ladies in a tree.”
“Anacat,” said Debo.
“And a cat,” Alice agreed.
“Actually,” said a deep voice very close below her, “we’re five ladies, a cat and a gentleman in a tree.” He pulled himself effortlessly onto the same broad branch and, over his daughter’s head, grinned at Alice like the veriest urchin. “How long since you climbed a tree, Lady Charlton?”
“Years.” She eyed his long legs, enclosed and protected by supple buckskin breeches. “Ladies’ clothing is not conducive to tree climbing.”
He glanced at the ripped seams of her sleeves. She was immediately aware of his gaze. “So I see. Perhaps I should get breeches made for the girls.”
Between them, Lina gasped. “Girls can wear breeches?”
“Only in private,” Alice said hastily. “And when there are no gentlemen around.”
Lina turned and looked accusingly at her father.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Fathers are not gentlemen.”
Alice spluttered. “Very true.”
His eyes darkened. His smile was full of dark promise. “And you can take that as fair warning.”
Alice swallowed. “Time to go inside now,” she announced to the occupants of the tree. “Mrs. Tweed has a lovely afternoon tea ready for us. I trust you are all hungry.”
His gray eyes dropped to her mouth and stayed there. “Ravenous.”
One by one, they all scrambled down from the tree. Alice insisting on going first so that she didn’t have to endure Lord Tarrant standing below her, looking up. Or helping her down.
He helped his daughters down, swinging them by the hands for the last little distance. Debo was the most difficult: she didn’t want to let go of her feline captive.
“Pass it to me,” he told her. “I’ll keep it safe.”
She hesitated, and her hold must have loosened, for with a wriggle, a yowl and a leap, the cat was away, bounding down the tree and vanishing into the shrubbery. With a wail, Debo tried to grab it and would have fallen had her father not managed to grab her in time.
“Thassmycaaaaat!” she wailed.
“It’s not your cat,” he told her and brought her down far enough to hand her down to Alice, waiting on the ground. “Hang on to her,” he told Alice, “or she’ll disappear after that wretched animal.”
“S’not a wretched animal,” Debo grumbled.
“No,” Alice agreed as she set her on her feet. “He’s a very handsome cat. But he does belong to somebody else. They’d be very sad if you took him away. You wouldn’t want to make them sad, would you?”
Debo shrugged. Anonymous cat owners moved her not at all.
“Your father will get you a kitten very soon, I’m sure,” Alice said, as he came slithering down the tree.
Debo gave him a cynical look. “S’what he said back at Miss Coates’s. But still, I got no cat.”
He brushed twigs off his coat. “I’m doing my best, Debo.”
The little girl sniffed.
“Come along, there’s a lovely tea waiting for us inside,” Alice said. “Wash your hands in the scullery first.”
As they walked back toward the house, Alice felt a small, cold hand slip into hers. She looked down and smiled. Lina was walking along beside her, giving a happy little skip from time to time.
* * *
Mrs. Tweed had outdone herself. There were dainty triangular sandwiches with their crusts cut off—cucumber, egg and watercress, ham, and chicken. There were little sausage rolls, hot from the oven, the pastry golden, crisp and flaky. In the center of the table sat a large, luscious sponge cake oozing with cream and jam. There were tiny individual number cakes, each one just large enough for a small girl to hold in her hand. There were wafer-thin almond biscuits—crisp, nutty and sweetly bland—and to finish, a dish of fruits, including fat, sugar-encrusted purple grapes that crunched deliciously as they bit into them.
The girls—and Lucy—oohed and aahed over the sight, and for the first ten minutes there was no sound at the table other than “Please pass the . . .” and the sound of chewing and blissful sighs.
Mrs. Tweed had provided a large pot of tea, but there was also milk for the children or lemonade, cold, tart-sweet and refreshing, which Alice chose. Lord Tarrant drank the tea but accepted a glass of wine when Tweed offered it to him.
He ate some of everything but particularly favored the sausage rolls, as well as the cream-filled sponge and the number cakes. He was finishing his third sausage roll when he looked up and caught her watching him.
“You were ravenous,” she said.
He gave her a slow smile. “Yes, but I wasn’t talking about food.” Again his gaze dropped to her mouth.
What was he looking at? She had a weakness for cream cakes, and she also loved the sugar-coated grapes. Was cream or sugar stuck to her lip? Fighting a blush, she picked up a napkin and scrubbed at her lips.
His smile deepened, but all he said was, “Your cook is very good.” Three little girls looked up and nodded, their mouths full.
“Papa,” Judy said after swallowing a mouthful of cake, “it wasn’t really Miss Bamber’s fault that we climbed the tree. I went up first and the others followed.”
“Not true!” Debo said. “I was first! I won.”
“Actually, the cat went up first, and Debo followed,” Lucy interjected.
Lord Tarrant held up a hand, stopping a babble of argument. “Enough. Neither Lady Charlton nor I have any interest in who climbed what. The rule from now on is that there must be a responsible adult present before anything like that happens again. It could be dangerous.”
“Is Miss Bamber a responsible adult?” Judy asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Now, I’m assuming you don’t want any more of this delicious food, so shall I ask Mr. Tweed to take it away?”
His answer was immediate silence, and a renewed attention to the food at hand. Alice laughed softly. He certainly knew how to handle children. “You said you were having trouble finding a kitten of a suitable age,” she said quietly, aware of the small ears further along the table. “I might have a suggestion.”
A dark brow rose. He gave an encouraging nod.
“An acquaintance of mine, Beatrice, Lady Davenham, runs a literary society that I occasionally attend. She has several cats, and often has kittens. She’s too softhearted to drown them, and is forever foist—er, bestowing them on her friends. I could make inquiries, if you like.”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” In the same low undervoice, he said, “Did you hear that, Debo?”
The little girl nodded and said with her mouth full of cake, “Yes, Lady Charlton’s getting me a kitten from a Bee lady with lots of cats. When?”
“Ears like a bat when it comes to Things Feline,” he told Alice.
Alice chuckled. “The literary society meets tomorrow. I’ll take Lucy.”
Lucy pulled a face. “Literary society?”
“You’ll like it. I promise.”