Amanda Scott (12 page)

Extending over a good deal of ground, for all the world as if it were in the country, the three-story central block was linked by means of long colonnades to large wings, similar in character but only two stories high. Exceptionally intricate carved stonework and wrought iron graced the front, the crowning glory of which was a high pedimented entrance. A youth came up the stairs of the railed-off areaway to the left of the entrance, and ran to the leaders’ heads to hold them.

“Lawks-a-mussy,” Mag exclaimed, inevitably.

Vexford wrapped the reins around the brake handle and turned to Melissa, gesturing toward the house and saying, “My great-grandfather, like many men of his time, was an amateur architect, a Palladian of the Burlington school, who couldn’t seem to decide whether he wanted Barrington House to resemble a villa or a palazzo. His most immediate influence, we believe, was William Kent, but by and large, it’s a cheerful place, anyway. Come, I’ll take you inside.”

Broad, shallow steps led to the large, ornately carved door. It opened before they reached it to reveal a porter dressed in cream-colored breeches and a dark coat.

“Good morning, my lord. Welcome home. Mr. Preston is busy in his pantry, so I did not disturb him, but I’ve rung for men to fetch your baggage in at once.”

“Thank you, Figmore. Have my parents returned?”

“No, my lord, but Mr. Preston did receive a message warning of their return tomorrow. Oh, and Mr. Oliver is here, sir.”

“Is he, indeed?” Vexford said, urging Melissa into a magnificent entrance hall, constructed largely of white marble, and adding, “Were we expecting him?”

“The long vacation, my lord.”

“Ah, yes, I do recall that it has begun.” Clearly as an afterthought he added, “This is Miss Seacourt, Figmore, who will be staying for a short time. I trust the blue guest room can be made available to her, and perhaps an adjoining room would be suitable for her maid.”

“Yes, my lord,” the porter said, bowing to Melissa, who had been admiring the spacious domed hall and its arched arcade of white Corinthian columns, echoing those outside. “I shall have their things taken up straightaway, sir,” the porter added.

“As to that,” Vexford said glibly, “Miss Seacourt’s baggage was most unfortunately mislaid. Her servant does, however, possess a bandbox, I believe.”

“I do,” Mag said instantly. “Lawks-a-mussy, m’ lord, that white staircase there in the middle must be all of twenty feet wide. ’Tis the finest I ever did see.”

“Thank you,” Vexford said dryly.

Melissa noticed that he avoided his porter’s gaze, and she could not blame him. No servant in such a grand London house would believe for a moment that Mag was maidservant to a lady of quality. Though Melissa could scarcely blame her for being amazed by the soaring, white marble split staircase, with its ornate wrought-iron balustrade picked out in French gilt, her cheeks burned, and she was grateful to the porter for not staring. When Vexford moved to a marble side table to look at a pile of cards on a gilded salver, she followed him and said in an undertone, “Pray, sir, why did you tell that man I am to stay here for only a short time? You made my arrival seem most peculiar, and I should have thought, since he is clearly an old retainer, that you might have introduced me to him properly.”

“Properly?” He looked at her. “I did introduce you properly, Miss Seacourt.”

She glanced over her shoulder to be sure the others would not hear her and said urgently, “Surely, you ought to have made it plain that I am your intended wife.”

“But, my dear girl,” he said, visibly surprised, “I do not have the smallest intention of marrying you.”

M
ELISSA STARED AT VEXFORD
in dismay. However, before she could demand to know how he could refuse to marry her after what he had done, he grasped her arm and turned her around, reminding her that they were not alone in the huge entrance hall.

He said to the porter, “I will go up with Miss Seacourt myself, to be sure she is satisfied with her bedchamber.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I suppose Mr. Oliver is still abed.”

“Yes, my lord.” The porter allowed himself a smile. “He returned home only an hour or so ago, sir. He’s like to sleep till noon, I should think.”

“Returned home an hour ago? Do you mean he only just arrived in town?”

“Oh, no, my lord. Came home on Sunday, he did. I meant only that he was out and about very late last night.”

Vexford frowned. “Where was he? Do you know?”

“As to that, sir, I believe he spent the greater part of the night at …” The porter glanced at Melissa, then went on with scarcely a pause, “… in Bolton Row, I should say, my lord.”

“The fishmonger’s?”

“Aye, my lord. In point of fact, that is just how he put the matter. Said he’d gone from the fishmonger to Billingsgate and would next be going to—But I oughtn’t to repeat that, I expect,” the man said with another glance at Melissa.

“No.” Vexford also glanced at her, then said, “I’ll let him sleep, for I intend to do the same myself. I daresay Lisset will soon have my traps stowed, and I can see that Miss Seacourt is having trouble keeping her eyes open, so we’ll take ourselves upstairs. Be a good fellow and tell Mr. Oliver, if you see him before you see me, that I want a word with him before he leaves the house. He can wake me if he likes.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Melissa waited until Vexford had guided her to the left-hand branch of the swooping staircase before she said in an undertone, “Who is Mr. Oliver?”

“My brother.”

A sardonic note in his voice made her look at him. His face was set, but she could not tell if he was annoyed or only tired. She said, “I never heard of a nobleman spending a night at a fishmonger’s before, sir.”

He smiled and said, “That was a tactful way of telling me that my younger brother has taken to patronizing certain gaming establishments. The fishmonger in question is a chap named Crockford. He did indeed used to sell fish on the streets, but now he runs a very successful hazard bank in Bolton Row.”

“And Billingsgate?”

“Also a fish market, but in this case, my brother’s sleepy attempt at humor. The Billingsgate Club is another establishment that caters to the gaming set.”

“Are you not a member of that set, sir?”

“Here is your bedchamber, Miss Seacourt,” he said, reaching past her to open a door. Pausing in the doorway, he said to Mag, “Go along to the room next door. It will be yours until we can arrange to send you back to Carter Fell.”

Mag hesitated, glancing from him to Melissa and back again, but when Vexford looked stern and seemed about to speak again, she bobbed a curtsy and fled. He urged Melissa into the bedchamber, followed her, and shut the door with a snap.

She stared at him. “You can’t come in here!”

“Don’t be missish. I want to know what the devil made you think I intended to marry you. I know I never said any such thing, and I don’t want you running all over town giving people the impression that I gave you a slip on the shoulder.”

“I just assumed …” She saw by the look on his face that what he had said was true. He had never had the least intention of marrying her. “Why did you pay such a long price for me if you did not intend marriage?”

“Good Lord, you might as well ask why I was even there! It just happened. I had a deal too much to drink, and though I can generally drink most of my companions under the table, the stuff must have affected me more than usual last night, for I was clearly out of my senses. I can only say that I am fervently grateful that my father no longer oversees my bank accounts. I should never hear the end of it, and if he didn’t order me down to Owlcastle to rusticate—”

“Owlcastle?”

“Our family seat in Hampshire. But to return to the point at hand, Miss Seacourt, I would be grateful to hear you admit that you had no good cause to believe I intended marriage.”

“I certainly thought that was what you meant! How could you …” She cleared her throat. “How could you do what you did to me in your bedchamber and
not
expect to marry me?”

“Look, I explained about that. If you suffered some embarrassment, I am sorry for it, but it was your own behavior earlier that led me to think you were a different sort of woman. In any case, I did nothing, even then, that requires me to marry you.”

She sighed. “Well, in honesty, I must agree that you never said as much, but good God, sir, what am I to do now? Every man who was there will tell everyone he knows about that disgraceful auction. I shall never be able to hold up my head again.”

“Nonsense. Not one will speak of what happened. Each one knows he would have to answer to me if he did.”

“If you believe that, you must be all about in your head,” she said bluntly. “I cannot imagine they will all keep such a tale to themselves. It begs to be repeated.”

“It may beg repeating,” he said, “but there was not a man in that room who is not fundamentally a gentleman. Nor,” he added grimly, “was anyone present who does not know me well enough to understand his peril if he does speak.”

“Are you so fierce then, sir?” Although he did not reply, she remembered the look on his face when he had demanded to know what Seacourt had done to her, and remembered, as well, that she had immediately yielded to his will. With a shiver, she said, “I suppose I must trust you to know those men, sir. Still, I can neither take myself back to Edinburgh nor repay the huge sum you say you spent. You said yourself that you own me. If you don’t intend marriage, what do you mean to do with me?”

For the first time she saw him look uncertain. With a grimace, he said, “As to owning you, you know that is not possible, whatever I might have said. Although I can give no good reason for what I did at the auction last night, it was solely my own doing. I don’t hold you responsible for my foolhardiness.”

“I am grateful to you,” she said quietly. “I just want to know what to do next.”

“We are both going to get some sleep,” he said. “While we do, you will give that dress and anything else you are wearing to a maid to refurbish for you. Which reminds me,” he added, “I sent Mag away so I could ask you without offending her if you want her to continue to serve you for the present I can arrange for one of our maidservants to look after you if you’d prefer.”

“Mag wants to see London, sir. I think the least I must do is to allow her that. She can serve me until you arrange for her return to Carter Fell. But you did not answer my question.”

“Because I do not know yet what to say. I mean to find that great-aunt of yours, if you will give me her direction, but not until we’ve had some sleep.”

“She resides in Berkeley Square, at my grandfather St. Merryn’s house,” Melissa said. “If she is not there, they will know when to expect her, but I’ll go with you, of course. I can just stay there until she arrives. The servants will look after me.”

“No,” he said. “You won’t leave this house until I know you will be safe.”

“Safe? How could I not be safe in my grandfather’s house?”

“We’ll talk about that later, when I know more about the situation. I can be fairly certain no one will mention what happened last night, but if you are widely known to be staying here before my parents return, tongues may wag, anyway. Don’t trouble your head about that now, though. Just get some sleep. I’ll send Mag to you now.” And with that, he was gone, leaving Melissa to glare after him in frustration.

A few minutes after Mag rejoined her, a maidservant brought an ewer of hot water and offered to look after Melissa’s clothing, saying as she held out a flowery silk robe she had draped over one arm, “I am Lucy, miss. His lordship sent this robe for you to wear. It belongs to her ladyship, but she won’t mind if you wear it. Then we can wash your chemise as well. Oh, and I’ll have that lovely cloak brushed up for you, and your shoes and stockings, too. What a bother to have lost your baggage!”

“Yes, wasn’t it?” Melissa thanked the maid, and asked to have a bath prepared when she awoke. Upon being assured that Vexford had already ordered one for her, she climbed gratefully into the tall blue-silk draped bed and fell quickly asleep.

Awakening much later, she felt disoriented until she remembered where she was. The curtains had been closed, though she did not remember Mag having closed them, and the room was dark. Slipping from the bed, she found the robe the maid Lucy had brought, and put it on, enjoying the sensation of the cool silk against her skin.

Guided by a sliver of gray light peeping through a crack in the curtains, she moved to the window and pushed the curtain aside to look out. The bedchamber overlooked a large, grassy inner courtyard, its center and borders abloom with spring flowers, their colors dimmed just then by lack of light. At first, she assumed that clouds must have rolled in over the city, but she soon realized that much of the day had passed. Annoyed, since she had asked Mag to awaken her by early afternoon so she could enjoy her bath before Vexford left for St. Merryn House—in the hope that she might still persuade him to take her—she picked up her watch-bracelet from the table where she had left it, and gasped to see that it was nearly six o’clock.

Gathering the robe tightly about her, she searched for a bell cord and pulled it. She paced impatiently until the maidservant came, then said rather more sharply than she had intended, “Where is the girl who came with me, if you please?”

“Why, in the servants’ hall, miss. I came up to see if you still want a bath. It’s a bit chilly, but we can stir up the fire and have hot water up here in a trice.”

“Yes, thank you. I should like that very much. Has his lordship awakened yet?”

“Oh, goodness, miss, he was up and gone out of the house by four o’clock.”

“Then why did no one wake me?”

“His lordship said you was very tired, miss, and that we must let you sleep until you wakened on your own. He sent me in to close your curtains when your woman said she hadn’t done so. You was sleeping like the dead then, miss. It would have been right heartless to wake you.”

“Very well,” Melissa said, resigned. “Order hot water and a tub brought up, and send Mag to me now.”