Anne Barbour (14 page)

Alison could only gaze at him in stricken silence. Something in his demeanor did not ring true, but his words were harder to bear than his recriminations would have been.

“Thank you, my lord,” she mumbled inadequately.

“Now”—he leaned toward her—”tell me something of yourself. Tell me about Ridstowe. Were you happy there?”

Alison’s throat tightened. “Yes, sir, I was. It is a small village, where everyone knows everyone else, and my father was much loved.”

“And you were his only daughter?”

“Yes, my mother died when I was very small, and Father and I were always close.”

“You lived in Ridstowe with him until ... Ah, thank you. Masters.” The butler, followed by a footman laden with a tea tray, entered the room and the next few minutes were spent setting out Lady Edith’s beautiful porcelain tea service and small, pretty plates of scones, cakes, and watercress sandwiches. Alison, feeling only slightly reprieved, was pleased that her hands did not shake as she handed a cup of tea to the earl and poured one for herself. At her nod, Masters bowed and removed himself and the footman from the room.

“I lived with my father until his death four years ago,” she said quietly. “I was forced to earn my own keep then, and found a position with Lady Strangeways.”

“I see. It must have been a difficult time for you.” The earl’s tone was sympathetic, but Alison somehow knew that his questions were motivated by more than a simple interest in her well-being. “How did you come to Lady Strangeways’s attention?”

Alison drew a deep breath. Lord Marchford’s questions were coming uncomfortably close to the bone. “Through my uncle. Sir Henry Matchingham. He had been acquainted with Lady Strangeways for some years, and knew she was in need of a companion.” She twisted her hands in her lap before continuing in a rush. “I could have lived with my aunt and uncle, but I chose to earn my own way.”

This was far from the truth, of course. She had declined Uncle Henry’s offer of his home because she wished to escape wholly from the civilized world into the haven of Lady Strangeways’s reclusive way of life.

“You are an unusual woman, Miss Fox, to choose a life on your own over one with loving relatives. Or perhaps you did not get on with your aunt and uncle?”

“Oh, no! That is, yes, we got along famously. They are wonderful people, and we still correspond. I visit them from time to time.”

“Yes, I seem to remember that on my previous visits to Aunt Edith, your absence was explained in this fashion.” There was nothing in his voice to indicate anything but a courteous interest, but Alison felt perspiration break out on her forehead.

“I wonder where Meg could be,” she said suddenly, in a frantic effort to change the direction of the earl’s thoughts. “She will be late for luncheon if she does not return soon. Will you be taking lunch here yourself, my lord? Lady Edith will be most pleased to see you. Perhaps ! should go up and see if she has risen from her nap.”

In a panicked movement, she made as though to rise, but she was stayed by the earl’s hand. “Surely not,” he said pleasantly. “We have been conversing for less than fifteen minutes, and luncheon is still an hour away. I hope you do not mind my questions. Miss Fox. You are,” he continued after a moment’s hesitation, “an unusual woman, and I find myself interested in how you came to your present situation.”

Alison flushed at the warmth in his expression, and, though she would not have thought such a thing possible, she felt even more wretched in her deception. She laughed nervously.

“I thank you, my lord, but I am really quite ordinary. If you were to interview every other lady’s companion in Bath, you would hear my story repeated a hundred times, I daresay.”

“Perhaps.” His smiled declared his disbelief in her statement, and Alison found that she was unable to meet the intensity of his gaze, which, in the late-morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows of the drawing room, reminded her of a lion in a particularly benevolent mood. At his next words, her fingers clenched spasmodically, so that a little of her tea sloshed into her saucer.

“B-Beth?” she echoed. “What about her?”

“I just wondered if she was a friend from your days in Ridstowe? Did she meet Mr. Crawford there?”

“No, my lord.” Her heart was beating so wildly she thought it might just possibly leap from her throat. “I met Beth at school. She and Jack met in London while we were there for the Season.”

“ ‘We’?”

Alison cursed inwardly. “Yes, I had a London Season— when I was seventeen. I stayed in Beth’s home.” The earl’s brow lifted questioningly. “My mother,” she continued unwillingly, “left a little money for this purpose.”

The earl digested this without comment. “And did you know Mr. Crawford well, also?”

“No!” The word burst from her lips. She sat back in her chair, embarrassed. “That is, he was a frequent visitor in Beth’s home, so I saw him quite a bit, but I did not become well acquainted with him. After he and Bethie were married, I never saw him again until he turned up here in Bath.”

The earl smiled. “You make him sound like a bad penny.”

“Oh, no—I meant no such thing. I am, of course, pleased to renew our acquaintance. Because of Beth, that is.”

At that moment, the sound of voices was heard rising from the floor below. Nearly gasping with relief, Alison sprang from her chair. “Meg is home!” she cried, as though the girl had only that moment safely arrived home from a year in the wilds of Africa.

March followed her at a sedate pace as she raced for the door and fairly scrambled down the stairs. The faint smile on his lips was not pleasant. As he had hoped, his questions had definitely touched a nerve in Miss Fox—several nerves if he were not mistaken. For the last few moments there, she had looked as though she was ready to explode, and not once during the entire conversation had she actually looked at him. Which was just as well, he reflected sourly, given his unfortunate susceptibility to her beautiful eyes. He paused on the stairway, and for some minutes watched Alison as she greeted Meg and listened with gentle laughter to the young girl’s bubbling account of her morning’s activities, while Honey danced around their ankles in a persistent bid for attention.

Alison Fox was an undeniably lovely woman, he reflected with a satisfying detachment that vanished the next moment as Alison, assisting Meg in removing pelisse and bonnet, turned to hand the girl’s outer garment to the maid who stood by. The curve of her lithe body in its sedate covering of gray muslin was sweet and almost unbearably tantalizing. It seemed inconceivable that her warm smile and what he could have sworn was an open expression of affection hid the heart of a grasping harpy.

But he could not have been wrong in his deductions. They all fit too neatly. He forced his mind to review what he had learned in his all-too-brief conversation with her. So, she had gone to school with a daughter of the
ton.
He would be willing to wager a sizeable amount that she had encountered the future Viscountess Callander at that same establishment. Was there, he wondered, a connection between Beth and Alison’s nefarious activities in London, as there had been with Molly?

And what about Jack? It was unfortunate that Meg’s arrival had given Alison an excuse to quit his company just as he had been getting to her relationship with him. His sudden appearance in Bath seemed much too fortuitous to be attributed to coincidence. In addition. March had learned through careful inquiry that Giles Morganton, Crawford’s host, had an unsavory reputation in Bath as a Captain Sharp with ties to London’s underworld. Was there a chance that Alison had spoken the truth that she was not well acquainted with Jack? The fear in her eyes when she spoke his name belied that fact. No, there undoubtedly had been—and perhaps still was—something between them. He was surprised at the anger that surged through him at this thought.

Alison glanced up suddenly, and catching his heated gaze on her, flushed and turned quickly to speak again to Meg. In response, Meg swung to face him.

“March!” she cried delightedly. “I did not know you would be coming today. You are just in time for luncheon.” She turned back to Alison. “Is Aunt risen from her nap?”

“Yes, she is,” replied a voice from above them, as Lady Edith descended the stairs. “As though anyone could sleep through all this racket.” She smiled as she spoke, erasing any hint of censure her words might have created.

More greetings were exchanged, and the little group withdrew to the library to await the summons to the dining parlor.

“How was your visit with Rosamund Pinchot this morning?” queried Lady Edith. “Has her mother recovered from her bout with influenza?”

“Oh, yes, she’s in prime twig now,” replied Meg breezily. “In fact, she took us shopping. Did you know that there’s a new linen draper in Bath Street? Mrs. Pinchot purchased two lengths of the loveliest spider gauze there.”

“Oh, yes,” interjected Lady Edith. “I believe that’s the third shop that has opened up there since Smith’s closed.” She turned to Alison. “You were not here then, but a number of years ago a rather extraordinary event took place there. It involved a Mrs. Leigh Perrot. I did not know the lady personally, but I understand she and her husband were of unimpeachable character. She was accused by a clerk at Smith’s of stealing a piece of white lace. It was all a dreadful misunderstanding, but the poor woman actually was imprisoned in Ilchester Jail and had to stand trial. She was acquitted, of course, but it was a dreadful time for her. The town buzzed about the case for weeks and an account of the trial was published and sold in the bookstores here.”

“Oh, yes,” exclaimed Meg. “I heard about that. Wasn’t Mrs. Perrot an aunt to Miss Austen, the authoress?”

“Yes, I understand that to be the case,” replied Lady Edith. “The Perrots returned to live in Bath, which is surprising. I should think they would have wished to wipe the dust of this city from their feet forever.”

“Indeed,” murmured Alison, her eyes cast down. “It is a terrible thing to be unjustly accused of a wrongdoing.”

March drew in a quick breath and shot a glance at her. Her comment could not have been directed at him, surely, for she had no idea that he had found her out. The unhappiness in her face struck him almost physically, and, despite himself, he knew an urge to reach out and smooth away the pain he saw there.

He shook himself in some irritation and returned to the conversation to discover that Meg was on another tack.

“At any rate,” she was saying, “after Mrs. Pinchot purchased her spider gauze, Rosamund and I came across an absolutely exquisite white silk shot with silver. Oh, Aunt, I think it would make up beautifully for a ball gown. Since I shall need several when I go up to London, do you not think it would be wise to purchase the silk now? It is only a guinea a length, which I am sure is not nearly so dear as we would be charged in the city.”

Lady Edith laughed. “You are very convincing, you little minx. Very well, but take Alison with you. Her taste is excellent, you know.”

Meg wriggled in delight. “Of course. Oh, Alison, that reminds me—we encountered Mr. Crawford in Milsom Street. He inquired about you, and I told him you would probably be at the Pump Room with Aunt later today.”

“Oh,” murmured Alison faintly.

“He seems awfully nice,” continued Meg, her interest in Mr. Crawford obviously piqued.

“Mmm,” replied Alison discouragingly, “I really do not know him all that well, Meg, but, I’m sure he is ... nice.”

“But he says you are old friends!” exclaimed Meg in surprise.

“Old acquaintances would be more accurate, my dear.”

“But you and his wife—”

“Yes,” said Alison, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. Why was everyone so suddenly and profoundly interested in her past relationships? “Beth and I were good friends, but I really did not know Mr. Crawford at all well.”

“But he is so handsome, Alison. Don’t you think?” Alison’s heart sank as she realized that Meg’s eyes had taken on an all-too-familiar glow.

“He seems most personable,” interjected a calm, authoritative voice. “He is a little older than you, is he not, Miss Fox? He must be just over thirty.”

If March thought that his observation would dampen that glow, thought Alison sourly, he had another thing coming. She reflected on the attraction Meg had felt for the thirtyish drawing master. Jack’s advanced years probably only made him more desirable in her eyes.

Not that Jack had made any apparent effort to secure Meg’s admiration. At dinner, a few nights before, his manner toward her had been avuncular, and though he paid the girl several extravagant compliments, and declared that she would be the toast of the next Season in London, his words had carried no hint of flirtation. In fact, his behavior that whole evening had been unexceptionable. His manner toward the earl had been respectful but not obsequious, and with Lady Edith, he had been charming and playful. Toward Alison, his demeanor had been friendly but not presuming. Why then, did the very idea of his incursion into Royal Crescent fill her with panic?

Luncheon was announced then, and afterward, the earl took himself off for an afternoon visit to a friend who had recently arrived from London. Alison watched his departure with some relief, and later, with Lady Edith and Meg in the Pump Room, she made a determined effort to join in the conversation among the ladies and their friends. Beneath the friendly responses, however, and the smiles and innocuous chatter that she somehow dredged from her reservoir of social conditioning, her thoughts dwelled on the interview with Lord Marchford earlier in the day.

She could not shake the uneasy feeling that his unexpected expressions of goodwill were not quite genuine, and that his questions indicated more than a passing interest in her background. Did he suspect something? Had she done or said anything since their first encounter to lead him to the truth she wished so devoutly to hide? He had said that he had come to regret his earlier assessment of her as a scheming adventuress, but there was something in his manner that made her profoundly uneasy. She must not allow herself to be alone with him again, nor would she be drawn into any more dangerously revealing conversations with him. Dear Lord, why had Jack Crawford chosen this particular time to come visiting in Bath?