The Scoundrel’s Daughter by Anne Gracie
Chapter Fourteen
Dammit, where was Heffernan? Gerald scanned the street for the dozenth time. He’d instructed Heffernan to be on hand outside Aunt Alice’s house, keeping a discreet lookout for Bamber. But there was no sign of the man.
Gerald had put the betrothal notice in several papers, not just the most popular ones, so Bamber would be sure to see it. Heffernan was supposed to be here, ready to catch Bamber when he came. Two possibilities had occurred to Gerald: either Bamber would give Aunt Alice her letters back and disappear from her life as agreed, or he’d decide he wanted more from her, blackmailers being notorious for wanting more. And if that were the case, Gerald, with Heffernan’s aid, would pounce on the blackguard and force him to give up the letters.
So where was Heffernan?
A hawker had set up farther down the street, roasting nuts over a portable brazier. Gerald’s stomach rumbled. He’d missed breakfast, and the smell was enticing. He gave the street another sweeping glance, then hurried down and ordered some roasted almonds.
The hawker filled a cone of newspaper with hot nuts and handed them to Gerald. “No sign of him yet, m’lord.”
Gerald nearly dropped the nuts. “Good God, it’s you.” Heffernan looked nothing like himself. He looked shorter, fatter, grayer and hairier, not to mention scruffier.
“Don’t be talking to me now, m’lord. Just take yourself off, casual-like. I have three men watching for Bamber. Don’t worry. If he shows up, we’ll get ’im.”
“Three men?” Gerald could see no sign of them.
“Aye. All Radcliffe’s men, so leave it all to us. There’s no tellin’ when Bamber will show—could take him all day. Might even be tomorrow, or later, depending on where he’s been hiding himself. The minute he shows, we’ll let you know. That lad over there, the one sweeping the street, he’s my runner. He’ll bring you any news quick as a flash.”
Munching on the hot nuts, Gerald walked away. It went against the grain for him to leave the scene, but Heffernan was right—there was no telling how long Bamber would take to get here. And he couldn’t very well turn up at Aunt Alice’s house at this hour and then hang around all day without an excuse—because who knew when Bamber would come? Even a newly betrothed man couldn’t get away with that.
And Alice wasn’t to know that the betrothal was a ruse.
A newly betrothed man. He was betrothed to Lucy Bamber.
He smiled to himself. In her own way, Lucy was as elusive as her father. Not that there was any comparison.
* * *
Lucy and Alice had just finished breakfast and had taken a pot of tea into the drawing room when the front doorbell jangled.
“That’ll be her. Are you sure you don’t want to go out into the garden?” Alice asked Lucy for the third time. The fact that she was obviously dreading the encounter made Lucy feel even warmer toward her.
Lucy laughed. “Not in the least. Are you sure you won’t let me deal with her by myself? I’m quite happy to.” In fact she would prefer to, but Alice was determined to stay and protect her.
Moments later Almeria, Countess of Charlton, swept into the room and came to an abrupt stop. She shot a vitriolic glance at Lucy. “You!” she said in a voice of loathing.
Lucy curtsied. “Good morning, Lady Charlton,” she said in a cheery voice. “What a vision you are—fifty shades of puce?”
Alice hurriedly rose, saying, “Almeria, what a surprise.”
“Hah! Surprise indeed. What do you have to say for yourself, eh? Eh?” She glared at Alice.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Alice asked and, without waiting for an answer, rang for Tweed—who appeared so quickly he must have been listening at the door—and ordered fresh tea.
“Tea!” Almeria said with loathing, seating herself in a flurry of silk and velvet. “This is not the time for tea.”
“Coffee then for Lady Charlton please, Tweed,” Alice said and returned to her place on the sofa.
“I want nothing! No. Refreshments. Whatsoever!”
Lucy hid a smile. Alice wasn’t doing it deliberately but her attempt at soothing the savage breast—or was it a savage beast? Beastess?—was having the opposite effect.
“Well?” Almeria snapped the instant Tweed had departed. “Explain yourself, Alice. I told you most specifically that I did not wish my son to become acquainted with this . . . this . . . creature.” She waved a disdainful hand in Lucy’s direction.
A “creature,” was she? Any intention Lucy had of being polite and conciliatory flew out the window.
“ ‘Creature’?” Lucy looked ostentatiously around. “Oh, you mean me? Of course you do. But you mustn’t blame Alice. She was as surprised as you were.”
Almeria turned a baleful glare on her. “Surprised is not the word.”
“Delighted?” Lucy prompted brightly. “Thrilled? Jubilant?”
“I am appalled! I don’t know how you managed to convince my son—”
“Oh, there was no convincing necessary. Not at all. In fact, it was all his idea.”
Almeria’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how you entrapped my son into this appalling mésalliance but—”
“ ‘Entrapped’?” Lucy interrupted. “Have you not spoken to Gerald then?”
Aleria’s lips thinned. “He was not in his lodgings this morning. No doubt hiding from the consequences of his rash act.”
“Or from his dear mama,” Lucy said sweetly.
Almeria’s eyes flashed. “Are you calling my son a coward?”
“You were the one who said he was hiding,” Lucy pointed out. “I wouldn’t have thought it myself, but—”
“I don’t know how he was convinced to wed the likes of you, but I intend to put a stop to it.”
Lucy tried to look concerned. “Is your son so weak-willed then?”
“ ‘Weak-willed’?” Ice dripped from every syllable.
“To be so easily controlled by his mother. I confess I am surprised, especially considering how heroically he served his country, commanding I don’t know how many troops and serving with distinction for—how many years was he away at war fighting the Corsican Monster, Alice?”
“Eight,” said Alice.
“Six,” Almeria said at the same time.
“It was eight,” Alice repeated.
Almeria sniffed.
“Well, whatever it was, presumably his mama knows him best,” Lucy cooed. “So, Lady Charlton, are you saying Gerald is easily led? A touch unreliable?”
“What do you mean, ‘unreliable’? My son is—”
“The kind of man who gives his word without intending to keep it?”
“How dare you! My son is the soul of honor!” Almeria declared, outraged.
“Oh, good then”—Lucy smiled serenely—“so the betrothal stands.”
Almeria breathed heavily through her nostrils, her eyes bulging with frustration. “I warn you, if you do not release him from this disastrous match, he will be penniless. His father will cut off his allowance.”
“Like a naughty schoolboy?” Lucy said incredulously. “How very poor-spirited of him.”
“Hah! That’s made you think twice, hasn’t it?” Almeria nodded in satisfaction. “Thought you were marrying a fortune, didn’t you?”
“Not in the least. Didn’t you know, we’re marrying for lovvvve.” Lucy batted her lashes and sighed romantically.
“Love? Pah! People of our order do not marry for love.”
“But then, I am not of your order, am I? Isn’t that your objection? In any case,” Lucy continued briskly, “I doubt Gerald will need his father’s financial support once he joins the diplomatic service and is living abroad.”
Almeria stiffened. “The diplomatic service? Gerald? Abroad? What nonsense. He’ll do nothing of the sort. I need him here.”
Lucy raised a brow. “To dance attendance on you? You want to keep a grown man of eight-and-twenty tied to your apron strings? Isn’t it a bit late for that?”
Almeria curled her lip. “Apron strings? Faugh! I’ve never worn an apron in my life.”
“How odd,” Lucy said. “I’ve always found them very useful—though not for tying people up with. Not that I’ve ever tried. But if you don’t have many dresses, an apron is a very useful garment.”
“I’m sure it is,” Almeria said disdainfully.
Lucy added in a reminiscent tone, “In fact I was wearing an apron when Gerald and I first met.”
“You were wearing an apron?” She said apron as if Lucy had confessed to wearing a filthy old sack.
“Yes, perhaps that’s what attracted him—something a little bit different from the usual run of girls he’d been meeting.”
“Why were you wearing an apron?” A filthy, old manure-stained sack.
Lucy smiled sweetly. “To protect my clothes. I was tending geese at the time.”
Almeria’s well-plucked eyebrows almost disappeared. “Tending geese? You were a goose girl?”
“Yes. But they were very well-bred geese.”
A muffled sound came from the sofa. Lucy couldn’t see Alice’s face.
“They were French geese,” Lucy added. “They belonged to a French comtesse—”
“French!” Almeria said with scorn.
“Yes, but German geese are held to be very fine, too, I believe.”
“Young woman! I have no interest in geese, French, German or otherwise.”
Lucy widened her eyes. “But you must. I mean, you surely sleep on a goose-feather mattress—they are the finest. And what about the Christmas goose? Do you refrain from eating that, too? Preferring pork, or perhaps chicken. Or do you eschew meat altogether? Is that how you stay so skinny? I mean, thin. No, slender—is that what you call it?”
“Cease and desist, you impertinent gel!”
“By all means, your ladyship. Just tell me what you wish me to cease and desist from, and I will gladly oblige.”
“My son’s betrothal—”
“Except for that.”
For a long moment Almeria huffed and puffed in silence, then she rose and with freezing dignity said, “I am deeply disappointed in you, Alice, for bringing this atrocious female into our circle. As for you”—she pointed a bony finger at Lucy, who had also risen—“the only way you will marry my son is over my dead body.”
“Oh surely, nothing so drastic,” Lucy said chattily. “We’d have to go into blacks and that’s such a gloomy color for a wedding, don’t you think?”
Almeria’s eyes were chips of ice. She opened her mouth, closed it, glared at Lucy some more and with a final muttered, “Abominable creature,” she swept from the room.
Lucy waited until she heard the front door close behind her, then sank into her chair with a gusty sigh. “Oh, that was fun, wasn’t it?” She glanced across at Alice, who seemed to have collapsed on the sofa. “Are you all right, Alice?”
Alice sat up, clutching a crumpled handkerchief. She regarded Lucy with awe. “ ‘Fun’?” It was . . . You were so . . .”
“Brassy? Bold? Impertinent?”
“All of the above—and utterly brilliant! And so brave.”
“Brave? Oh pooh. What can that woman do to me, after all?”
“She’s going to be your mother-in-law.”
Lucy wrinkled her nose. No danger of that. She really wished she could tell Alice it was a false betrothal, but she’d made a promise.
She almost wished she was going to marry Lord Thornton. It went wholly against the grain to give that woman what she wanted. It would serve Almeria right if Lucy married him after all.
After a moment Alice said, “You and your well-bred French geese. I thought she was going to burst.” She glanced at Lucy and clapped her hand over her mouth. A snort escaped her, their eyes met, and suddenly they were both laughing uncontrollably.
* * *
It’s not working,” Lucy told Gerald as soon as she could grab a moment alone with him. Lord and Lady Falconer’s rout was already a “sad squeeze,” and more people were arriving every minute.
The news about their betrothal was well and truly out, and many people had come up to congratulate her. Some, of course, were less welcoming of the news, the Countess of Charlton being one of them. Almeria was circulating among her friends, telling people that it was a mistake, that it would be called off as soon as her son came to his senses and that “that Bamber creature,” as she was calling Lucy, had entrapped him.
“Don’t worry about Almeria,” Alice told her. “The more people she tells that kind of thing to, the more sympathy you’re getting. It’s extremely bad form of her to be so obviously antagonistic toward her son’s choice—particularly when he seems so happy. Besides, anybody who knows Gerald knows he’s not the kind of man to be entrapped by anyone.”
But whatever slander Almeria was spreading about Lucy didn’t bother her. It was, after all, a false betrothal. Almeria would get her victory in the end, much as it would vex Lucy to have to grant it to her.
“What’s not working?” Gerald asked.
“It’s been two days now since the betrothal was posted in the newspapers, and there has been no word from Papa.”
“I know,” Gerald said.
Lucy frowned up at him. “How do you know?”
“I’ve had men watching the house ever since dawn that first morning.”
Men watching the house? Lucy wasn’t sure what she thought about that. Lying in wait for Papa as if he were a criminal.
But he was a criminal. He’d blackmailed Alice. He’d also failed to give her the money he’d promised her. Lucy knew full well that Alice was now paying for all Lucy’s needs out of her own pocket—a pocket that was lean at best.
And she knew he owed many people money. And that some of his schemes had resulted in serious losses for his investors, though not Papa, never for Papa. So, yes, he was a cheat and a blackmailer—a criminal. She couldn’t deny it.
But he was still her father. And though he hadn’t ever been much of a parent, he had done his best for her, according to his own peculiar and haphazard standards. He had put her in the finest schools—even if she was later expelled for his failure to pay the bills. And he had intended she would benefit from her time with Frau Steiner and the comtesse—and she had learned from them, even if most of the time they’d used her as a maidservant.
Papa always come up with schemes that sounded good. He just wasn’t very good at carrying them out. Or was it that he simply didn’t care about the people he involved in his schemes, as long as he benefited in the end?
Oh, Papa . . . Had he always been like this? Even with Mama? She couldn’t tell; she’d been too young. But probably he was just the same. They’d moved so often, and she was sure that wasn’t Mama’s choice.
“How long do you think we should give it?” she asked Gerald.
“How long for what?”
“Our betrothal. If it doesn’t bring Papa and the letters to us, there’s not much point in going on, is there?”
“Oh, there’s plenty of time yet,” he said easily.
“I suppose.” She glanced across to where Almeria was leaning in close to one of her cronies, whispering furiously in her ear, all the while sending dagger looks at Lucy.
Brightening, Lucy sent the woman a wide smile and twinkled her fingers at Almeria in a gleeful wave. Almeria stiffened in outrage and resumed the vehement whispering.
Lucy laughed. Yes, indeed, there was still plenty of time to enjoy the fruits of her betrothal.
* * *
Do you have any engagements for Thursday next?” James said as he escorted Alice in to supper. Lord and Lady Falconer were known for the quality of their suppers. James was hoping for crab or lobster patties.
She turned her head sharply. “Thursday next? You mean the day after tomorrow? Is that when—we, er, you plan to, um . . . ?”
“Yes, I’m hoping for ‘um’ on Thursday, if that suits you.”
She glanced furtively around. “And you’re asking me here? In this company?”
His eyes danced but he said solemnly, “It is perfectly proper to inquire about a lady’s social arrangements, whether in company or not.” And then he added, for he could see his question had seriously discomposed her, “I simply wish to invite you to take a turn in my new carriage, Lady Charlton.”
“Your carriage?”
“Yes, my carriage.”
“Oh, your carriage,” she said, finally understanding. She added in a clear voice, sufficient to be heard a good ten feet in any direction, “I would be delighted to take a ride in your carriage, Lord Tarrant.” And then she realized the possible interpretations of that statement and blushed rosily.
James hid a smile. His beloved was not built for deception. Duplicity of any kind was simply not in her nature.
“Good,” he murmured, “my horses are raring to go.”
Her blush deepened.
“In that case, I will call for you at nine.” He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Pack a bag. We will stay overnight.”
“Overn—?” she squeaked and tried to turn it into a cough.
“Possibly longer.”
Her eyes widened, but she said nothing as they took their places. James was delighted to see that there were both crab and lobster patties, and plenty of both. Alice just picked at her food. She was nervous, but he could do nothing about that. Not until Thursday.
“What about Lucy?” she asked in a low voice.
He served her a slice of lemon curd cake. Her favorite. “What about her?”
“I can’t just go off and leave her.”
“Why not? Much as I like your goddaughter, she’s not coming with us.”
She spluttered over a mouthful of wine. “No, but it would be most improper to leave her on her own in my house.”
He wanted to laugh. But he saw her point. “What if Nanny McCubbin and my daughters came to stay? That would be adequate chaperonage, would it not.”
“Y-es. Or perhaps I could ask Lady Peplowe to invite her to stay a few days. Lucy and Penny Peplowe get on very well together. I’ll give it some thought.”
* * *
To James’s amusement, Alice raised it with Lucy going home in the carriage that evening, telling her that she’d heard this evening that an old friend of hers was ailing and Alice had decided to visit her.
No, Lucy couldn’t accompany her because . . . because her friend was quite poor and lived in a very small cottage. There was no room.
Who was this friend? An . . . an old school friend.
Her name? Mary—yes, that was it. Mary.
James leaned back against the carriage squabs, enjoying the tangled story Alice was attempting to weave in order to have an excuse to get away for a couple of days. He had no doubt the darkness inside the carriage hid a positive battalion of blushes.
The possibilities of Penny Peplowe or Nanny McCubbin and the little girls were debated. Then Gerald leaned forward and said, “Actually, I have been thinking of taking Lucy to meet my grandmother, who lives outside Aylesbury.”
“Your grandmother?” Lucy exclaimed. “But I can’t—”
“She’s heard so much about you already.”
“I just bet she has,” Lucy muttered.
Gerald laughed. “I promise you’ll like her. She’s not at all like my mother. In fact, she’s been heard to say—when provoked—that Mother was a fairy changeling, and not the good sort. Grandmama would love to meet you.”
“What an excellent idea,” James said.
“Yes, and you can take my maid, Mary, with you,” Alice agreed.
“Yes, I’m sure Lady Charlton will manage perfectly without the services of her maid,” James said in a provocative voice.
A small foot kicked him on the ankle. Alice said with dignity, “Thank you, Gerald, that’s the perfect solution.”
James didn’t think Lucy was as pleased with the idea as everyone else. In fact, he got the distinct impression she was extremely reluctant to go, but he didn’t care. As long as it made Alice free to come with him, he didn’t give a damn what Lucy did.
“Good, so that’s all settled,” he said as the carriage drew up outside Bellaire Gardens. “Good night, ladies,” he said as he handed them down. “It’s been a delightful evening.”
* * *
The following morning a letter arrived addressed to Lucy in a flamboyant hand. Tweed presented it to her on a silver salver. She eyed it with a sinking heart. She knew that hand.
She looked at Alice. “It’s from Papa.”
“What does it say?”
Lucy broke open the seal, scanned the contents swiftly, then read it aloud.
My dear Daughter,
By the time you receive this letter, I shall be far away, sailing the high seas, heading for America. Congratulate me, Daughter, for I have married a Mrs. Lymon. She is a Widow from Boston, Massachusetts, the relict of an Extremely Wealthy man, so you will be Glad to know I shall be living in the Comfort, even Luxury, to which I have always aspired. I shall not be returning to England—it has become increasingly Unfriendly to me and I am glad to shake its Dirt from my boots and to start a New Life.
So, Daughter, for all your misgivings, my little Scheme was successful and you are securely betrothed to a Viscount and the Heir to an Earldom. Thus I can happily leave you, knowing I have done all I can to Assure your Future.
Please give Lady Charlton my thanks—and apologies. I had no choice.
Live well, my child.
Farewell from your Loving Father,
Octavius Bamber, esquire
She choked on the last few lines.
She ought to be used to this. How many times had he dumped her on strangers and abandoned her. This time it was forever. He was glad to go. I can happily leave you.
“Oh, Lucy, to leave the country—forever—without any warning, or even a personal goodbye.” Alice slipped an arm around Lucy and hugged her. The warm sympathy in her voice brought a blurring of tears to Lucy’s eyes. She blinked them angrily away.
She would not let her father bring her to tears, not again. Never again. How often as a young girl had she soaked her pillow with lonely, miserable, fruitless tears every time Papa had left her, assuring her that this—wherever it was, with whoever it was—would be the making of her. And then he’d drive blithely away without a backward glance. Leaving her behind to sink or swim.
And now she was alone forever, without even having the pretense of a father.
Well, better no father at all than one who regularly turned her life upside down with no warning. She could choose now how she would live her life.
And if the future stretched ahead, frighteningly blank, that simply meant she needed to make plans. She couldn’t batten on Alice much longer.
“I’m all right,” she told Alice wearily. “It’s not as if it’s anything new.”
She folded and refolded the letter until it was a small square and slipped it into her sleeve. It was so typical of Papa—the self-centeredness, the self-congratulatory tone and the complete disregard of her feelings. All he cared about was his own success. So her future was assured, was it? Did he even know—or care—anything about Lord Thornton apart from his title? For all Papa knew, he could be a horrid wife beater or cat torturer or anything.
After a moment, Alice said hesitantly, “Did he even mention the letters?”
Lucy shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Maybe he’s burned them.”
Lucy shook her head. Who knew, with Papa.
“But what would be the use of them now? He’s got what he wanted—you’re betrothed to a viscount. And he must know I have no money to buy them.”
Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all over. Maybe Papa’s forgotten all about them. It wouldn’t be unlike him. He has an enviable ability to put awkward or uncomfortable thoughts out of his mind, particularly when he has a new scheme in mind.” In this case, a rich widow.
Alice sighed. “He’s acting as if his ‘scheme’ is all over, but I would feel a lot better if he had enclosed the letters.”
“It would cost more to post,” Lucy said. “Papa can be quite ridiculously penny-pinching at times.” She stood up and said briskly. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m in need of fresh air. I’m going out into the garden. Do you want to come?”
Alice said gently, “No, my dear, you’ve had a big upset. I think you’ll be happier alone to sort out your feelings.”
Lucy nodded. Happier alone. Yes, she’d better learn how to be that.
* * *
Gerald called at Bellaire Gardens later that afternoon, ostensibly to finalize the arrangements to take Lucy to visit his grandmother, but also to bring Alice the news.
“Lucy is out in the garden,” Alice told him.
“Good,” he said. “But first some news. My man Heffernan sent a message. Bamber has left the country. He sailed from Bristol two nights ago, on a ship bound for America.”
“I know,” Alice said. “Lucy got a letter from him this morning, bidding her farewell forever. He’s married a rich American widow and says he’s never coming back.”
Gerald stared at her, shocked. “He said goodbye by letter? Without even trying to see her? That swine. His own daughter! How did she take it?”
Alice shook her head. “She’s devastated, of course, but determined not to show it. She says it’s nothing new. It seems she’s quite accustomed to being abandoned by that wretched man—but honestly, how could any young girl become accustomed to such carelessness? Especially as he’s her only living relative. And she’s such a dear girl. Oh, I could strangle him.”
“You’ll keep her with you of course.”
“Yes, of course, though she has her pride. My guess is she’ll try to insist on leaving.” Alice snorted. “To go where? That man has left her with nothing. I’m just thankful she is safely betrothed to you. Were it not for that . . .” She shook her head.
Gerald frowned. The betrothal was currently as strong as wet paper. He would have his work cut out for him now. “Perhaps this visit to my grandmother might cheer her up.”
Alice gave him a skeptical glance. “You think so?”
“Why not? At least it will be a change. I’ll go and speak to her now.” On the point of leaving, he turned back at the door. “There was no mention of the letters, I suppose?”
“None.”
“Damn him—sorry, Aunt Alice.”
“Don’t be,” Alice said. “I quite agree.”
He found Lucy in her favorite spot, under the spreading plane tree, painting. Or rather, pretending to paint. He stood in the shadows and quietly watched her for several minutes. Her brush never moved. She just sat, staring blankly into the distance.
He couldn’t imagine how she must feel. To be so callously abandoned, so entirely alone . . .
No matter how unsatisfactory his own parents were, they were at least there.
He must have moved or made a sound, for she turned her head and sprang up. “Gerald.” She put her paintbrush down, smoothed her dress and faced him with a forced smile. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s time this sham came to an end.”
He strolled toward her. “What sham would that be?”
“The betrothal.”
“Oh, that. There’s no hurry.”
“You don’t understand.” She took a small square of paper from her sleeve and handed it to him. “I received this today. My father has left the country. As you will see, there’s no longer any reason to continue this betrothal charade,” she said in a colorless voice.
Gerald unfolded the square and started to read. As he did, his anger grew. The smug self-satisfaction of the man. His complete disregard for his daughter’s feelings. Not even a pretense that she would be welcome to visit or that he intended to share any of his good fortune with her.
“You see?” she said when he’d finished reading. “It’s time I set you free. I’m not quite sure how to proceed—do I send the notice to the papers? Or is it more proper for you to do so? Only I don’t want people to think you have been in any way dishonorable.”
He refolded the letter and passed it back to her. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not ready to cancel our betrothal yet.”
A troubled crease appeared between her brows. “Why not? We only did it to bring my father out from wherever he was lurking. Now he’s on his way to America, there’s no point.”
“Yes, but there are other things to consider,” he said vaguely.
“What things?”
“People. My grandmother for a start.”
She stared at him, puzzled. “What does your grandmother have to do with it?”
“She’s very much looking forward to our visit tomorrow. I’d hate to disappoint her.”
“But she doesn’t even know me. And won’t she be even more disappointed if we break off the betrothal after the visit?”
“She’s expecting us. And if you don’t come with me,” he added in a burst of inspiration, “Alice won’t be able to go and stay with her friend—and you know how she hates to let people down. As a betrothed couple, with a maid in attendance, you and I can travel quite respectably, but if we were no longer betrothed, it would be quite scandalous.”
She eyed him with a doubtful expression. “Really?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “By staying betrothed, we can make both my grandmother and Alice happy, and nobody will be put out or disappointed.”
“I suppose,” she agreed reluctantly.
He gave her a quizzical look. “Are you so keen to get rid of me?”
She gave a halfhearted laugh. “It’s not that, it’s just that— Oh, my father has embroiled us all in this dreadful tangle, and I can see no way out except to cut right through it and leave everyone free and clear.” Her lovely eyes were troubled. “I am truly grateful, Lord Thornton, for your—”
“What?” He staggered back as if in shock.
She put a concerned hand on his arm. “What is it? Are you ill?”
“You called me Lord Thornton.” And then when she didn’t respond, he added, “Not Lord Thorncrake or Lord Thorndyke or Lord Thornbottle.”
She looked self-conscious. “Oh. Yes. Well, I’m sorry about that.”
He fixed her with a gimlet look. “Who are you and what have you done with Lucy Bamber?”
She laughed, a genuine one this time.
“That’s better,” he said. “I don’t like seeing you all crushed and guilty. None of this mess is your fault, and your father is gone, so let us put it all behind us.” Before she could argue the case, he hurried on. “Now, I plan to collect you at half past eight tomorrow morning. It’s not too early for you, is it? It will take us most of the day to reach my grandmother’s.”
“It’s not too early,” she said. “But I still don’t like the thought of getting her hopes up.”
“Let me worry about that,” he told her.
* * *
Lucy ate a hearty breakfast. Alice had toyed with a piece of toast but hadn’t been able to bring herself to eat more than a mouthful. She was too tense.
She waved off Lucy and Mary shortly after half past eight. It was a rather grand affair. The smart traveling carriage had the Charlton coat of arms on the door and was pulled by a team of four fine horses. The driver wore livery, as did the footman traveling at the rear. Gerald accompanied them on horseback.
As they turned the corner and disappeared from sight, butterflies started up in Alice’s stomach. James would be here in half an hour. She was all packed, but was she ready for what was to come? She had no idea.
James arrived twenty minutes later in a yellow bounder—a hired post chaise pulled by two horses. A postilion rode one of the horses.
“We’re not going far,” he explained, “and this is more private. No grooms or drivers to worry about or eavesdrop, no horses to stable.”
Alice nodded. She couldn’t even think about grooms or horses. But privacy she could appreciate. She could still hardly believe she was going to do this, even less that it was at her suggestion.
James put her valise into the boot at the back and helped her into the chaise. She’d never been in one of these conveyances before, and when he climbed in after her, it suddenly felt very small. Their bodies touched all down one side. His body felt so warm. She herself felt cold. Nerves.
They set off, and she distracted herself by looking out the window that covered the whole front of the chaise and pointing out various sights of possible interest. She feared she was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
After a few minutes it started to rain, just a soft, light spitting, but it made the window hard to see out of.
“We’ll be there in about an hour,” James told her. “I’ve rented a small cottage near a village on the outskirts of London.”
“Mmm,” she responded vaguely. In the small, close carriage, she could smell him—nothing strong or overwhelming, just the faint scent of his soap, clean linen, a hint of his shaving cologne and the underlying smell of his skin: the smell of James. She just wanted to lean over, press her face against his chest and inhale him.
If only that was all it took . . .
“So, how shall we while away the time?”
Startled, she turned to look at him.
He laughed at her expression. “Not with any improper activity,” he said. “We’ll have plenty of time for that when we get there.”
“Oh. Of course.” She swallowed.
His big warm hand closed over hers, and she immediately felt both comforted and yet, foolishly, even more nervous. “I meant,” he continued, his thumb caressing her skin, “what shall we talk about on the journey? Let’s start with you: Where did you grow up?”
She told him about her childhood at the vicarage in Chaceley and, under what she later realized was his skillful questioning, told him a great deal more than she’d intended, about her father’s passion for saving the souls of denizens, about how she’d grown up lonely—she wasn’t allowed to associate with the village children—and had always wished for brothers or sisters, but they’d never happened.
And all the time his thumb caressed her, moving back and forth over her hand, slow and rhythmic.
She found herself telling him how she’d come to marry Thaddeus. “I barely knew him, but both Mama and Papa were insistent that he was a good match for me—and he did seem to be good-looking and quite charming. So, two weeks to the day after we met, we were betrothed.” And she, poor naive fool, had thought that Thaddeus had fallen in love with her, and she’d been so excited by this unexpected whirlwind wooing by a handsome and sophisticated London viscount that she’d imagined she was in love with him, too.
Later she’d learned that she was on a list of virtuous and eligible girls his father had given him, along with an ultimatum that if he wasn’t betrothed to one of them by the end of the month, his allowance would be stopped. It was all to prevent him from marrying his mistress. She didn’t tell that to James. It was too lowering.
“And six weeks after that, I was married and living in London, and Mama and Papa had departed for foreign shores—Papa’s lost souls, you see,” she finished.
“And not long after that, they were dead.”
“Yes, it was a terrible shock. And by the time I found out, they’d actually been dead for weeks.” That was when she’d finally realized she was entirely alone in the world—except for her husband, who by then had shown his true colors. “But enough about me.” She forced a brighter tone. “What about you? Did you have a happy childhood?”
He told her about the estate in Warwickshire where he’d grown up—the one that was now his—and how his brother, Ross, being the heir, had been trained to take over the management of the estate. It was clear from his stories that he and his brother were very close—and that Nanny McCubbin had cared for them both. “She was more of a mother to Ross and me than our own mother was.”
Alice, having seen Nanny McCubbin with his daughters, could easily imagine it.
He told her about joining the army and going to war, about how he met his wife, Selina, on leave, and how her parents were adamantly opposed to the match, but how he and Selina won out in the end. He told her how Selina had traveled with the army and how well she’d taken to that life.
As he talked and told funny and dramatic stories of their adventures, Alice became more and more aware that she could never live up to his memories of Selina. Alice couldn’t even produce a baby, let alone give birth to one in the middle of a war in a tent or a dirt-floored cottage. And from the sounds of things, Selina had treated every one of those hardships as a delightful adventure.
Alice, by comparison, was dull and unadventurous: she hadn’t done much with her life at all.
“The uncertain and dangerous life we lived made us both very aware that we needed to make the most of every day,” he finished.
An excellent principle to live by, Alice thought. And she was having an adventure—if the definition of the word was to do something you’d never done before that felt risky and a bit nerve-racking.
There was no point in hoping that James would fall in love with her. His stories about Selina had convinced her of that. He wanted Alice as a mother for his daughters and a wife he was comfortable with, whose company he enjoyed. She could accept that, could even live quite happily with it, as long as she didn’t let herself crave more than he was prepared to give.
If she could bear going to bed with him, it would be enough.
The Bible said it was better to give than to receive, and Alice had a heart full of love to give. She already loved his daughters; she would just have to take care that she didn’t smother James, or embarrass him with her feelings—if she agreed to marry him, that was.
You couldn’t make someone love you—Thaddeus had taught her that.
“We’re here,” James said as the carriage pulled up outside a small, pretty cottage. “Wait here while I open it up—you don’t want to get wet.”
He leapt down and splashed through the puddles to the front door of the cottage. He unlocked the front door and returned with an umbrella for her.
While he fetched their luggage and paid off the postilion, Alice looked around. The cottage was small and simple but spotlessly clean. Four rooms, by the look of it—a sitting room and two small bedrooms, with a kitchen at the back.
The floor was slate but made cozy with colorful rugs. A fire had been set in the fireplace, all ready to light. The kitchen contained a cast-iron stove, also readied for lighting, and a large table. Glancing out the back door, she saw a short path leading to an outhouse, which she made quick use of.
She washed her hands at an outdoor pump, and then explored the cottage. One of the bedrooms contained a large double bed, made up with soft blankets, fine linen and a beautiful satin-edged eiderdown. She sat on the bed—a new mattress, if she wasn’t mistaken. In fact, the bed itself was too big and grand for a cottage like this. James must have furnished the whole cottage from scratch.
She swallowed. He’d gone to a lot of trouble. She hoped it would be worth it. Hoped she would be worth it.
She’d started shaking again.
“Well, what do you think?” James asked, setting down the valises and a large wicker basket. “I know it’s small and simple, but I thought you’d be more comfortable with no strange servants and no neighbors. It’s a five-minute walk into the village, and the post chaise and postilion will be waiting there, so whenever you want to leave, I’ll walk in and fetch them.”
She pressed her shaking hands together—she could do this, she could—and smiled. “It’s lovely.”
He took a tinderbox from the shelf above the fireplace and in a few minutes the fire was alight. “Won’t be long before the room warms up.”
She nodded. It wasn’t cold that was making her shake. When had she become such a coward? She done this hundreds of times with Thaddeus. It couldn’t be any worse.
But that wasn’t what she was so frightened of.
This was make-or-break. Either she could bear to be bedded by James, or she couldn’t. If she could, she would marry him. If it was as it had been with Thaddeus—proving that she was the one at fault—she couldn’t marry James.
Oh, she was sure he’d say it didn’t matter, but she knew it would, and she couldn’t bear to see him grow more and more disappointed with a cold wife who shrank from him in bed. And then he would turn to a mistress, and she couldn’t bear that, either.
“Are you hungry? I’ll put on the kettle and organize something to eat.” He disappeared into the kitchen, and she could hear him getting out crockery and clattering quietly about. She ought to be the one seeing to it, not him, but she couldn’t even think about food at the moment.
She couldn’t think about anything at all. Except for that big bed.
She glanced out the window. It was still raining, and the dismal gray light coming through the windows gave her no idea of the time. How long until the evening? An endless, unbearable wait.
Perhaps she could force herself to enjoy it—or at least make James think she enjoyed it.
No, she was not prepared to be dishonest in that way. To start a marriage with such dishonesty would be to invite further cracks and deceptions. She couldn’t do it.
She paced up and down in front of the fire. She wanted to throw up. So much depended on what happened in that big bed tonight.
“You’re not the slightest bit interested in food, are you?” She whirled around. He stood in the doorway watching her. His voice deepened. “You’re driving yourself mad with imaginary worries.”
She couldn’t think of a thing to say. Her worries weren’t imaginary.
“Give me a minute.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.
What was he thinking? She had no idea.
He was back in two minutes. “You need to have a little faith,” he said and pulled her gently toward him.
“I do have faith in you,” she said tremulously.
He cupped her face in one hand and gave her one of those slow smiles that never failed to melt her bones. “I meant, faith in yourself.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I have every faith in you, Alice. But I can see that you need to be convinced. Can I assume you have no appetite for food at the moment?”
She nodded. “Good,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.