Anne Barbour (2 page)

“Nonsense,” was the brisk response. “I have long been wanting to introduce you to my favorite nephew.”

She smiled up into the young man’s face, which lightened with warmth and laughter.

“Do not be plying me with Spanish coin, Aunt. I am your only nephew, after all.” Abruptly, the laughter vanished and the earl’s features hardened.

Instantly Lady Edith was at his side. Taking one of his hands in hers, she said quickly, “Yes, my dear. But do come in and sit down.”

“Please ring for tea, Alison.” This to Miss Fox, whose face was once more tinged with a delicate rose. “Come sit here by me, March—” Lady Edith settled herself on a sofa by the fireplace and patted the seat next to her—”and tell me what brings you to Bath. Is your man bringing your things in?”

The earl lowered himself gracefully onto the spot indicated. “No, Aunt, I would not dream of disrupting your household. I plan to be here a week or so only and have made arrangements at York House. I am just stopping to say hello before I make my way there.”

“But ...” began Lady Edith. “Oh, very well,” she concluded, throwing her hands in the air in a fluttering gesture. “You will return for dinner this evening, though, won’t you? And then later you can accompany us to the Upper Rooms. The town is a little thin of company at present, but I’m sure there will be many familiar faces there.”

“It will be my great pleasure, ma’am,” replied Lord Marchford smoothly, noting with some interest that Miss Fox stiffened at his acceptance of the invitation.

“Oh!” Lady Edith clapped her hands together. “And Meggie will be here tomorrow! She will be quite in alt when she discovers you here, March.”

“Yes.” The earl’s face lit with warmth and amusement. “She has always felt that a brother residing in London lends her an immense cachet among her schoolfellows, and I am prepared for an exhaustive grilling on the doings of the Regent’s set. However, Prinny and I do not often inhabit the same space, for which I thank God daily, so I shan’t have much to report this time.”

The conversation was general after that, as tea was presented with a flourish by Masters, Lady Edith’s longtime butler. Lord Marchford regaled the ladies—or at least one of them—with the latest
on-dits
of the
ton,
and confided his plans to ask for the hand of the Honorable Frances Milford, daughter of the Viscount Briscombe.

“I should not be discussing this delicate matter with you before the engagement is a fait accompli, but I’m sure Eleanor has already apprised you of the situation. She’s been at my back for the past month, urging me to do my duty.”

“Well,” said his aunt, nibbling delicately on a poppyseed cake, “she did write to tell me that you seemed to be showing a marked preference for the gel, but I was not aware that matters had progressed so far. If that is the case”—Lady Edith brushed the corner of her mouth with her napkin—”what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be down on bended knee in the Milford morning room?”

Lord Marchford experienced an unexpected tightening in his stomach. Surely his aunt did not suppose that in coming to visit her at this time, he was postponing an unpleasant task. Not that he particularly looked forward to the moment of his official declaration, but he had assured himself that once the ritual was concluded, his life would progress once more in its orderly path. After an extended tour of duty as one of the most sought-after bachelors in the polite world’s marriage sweeps, he had at last been brought to a sense of what was due his position. Subsequently, it had taken him little time to settle upon the maiden of his choice. Frances Milford, he told himself with some complacency, would make an admirable countess, which was not surprising, since she had been bred to this position—or one like it. From the top of her elegantly coifed head to the tip of her exquisitely slippered toes, she was a model of propriety and good
ton.
She was not one of your simpering misses. On the contrary, without being insufferably high in the instep, she was quite well aware of her own consequence and the respect due her position. She knew as well how to manage a noble establishment as she did to depress the pretensions of an encroaching mushroom. But of what the earl was most blessedly aware was the implicit acknowledgment on her part that she would never interfere with the even tenor of his life. He could spend uncounted hours making duty appearances at his club or at the gaming establishments he favored—although he never permitted himself to wager beyond what was circumspect. He could even choose a mistress with no fear of recrimination, though he was unlikely to do so, since he considered such behavior unbecoming to one of his position. Frances would be his hostess, the mother of his children, and the reflection of his station in life. In short, she would be a comfortable wife, and he was, of course, anxious to conclude this unpleasant business in Bath and repair to her side.

He smiled into Lady Edith’s eyes. “All in good time, Aunt,” he said, affixing what he hoped was a pleasant smile on his lips. He glanced at Miss Fox, who seemed to be suffering some embarrassment at being included in a discussion of such intimate family details. The blue eyes were shuttered as she gazed down at the teacup she held in her lap. It seemed to the earl that it trembled just a little. He smiled.

“Tell me something of yourself, Miss Fox.”

The woman started, and the flush in her cheeks became more pronounced. She bent an anxious gaze upon him and the earl was conscious of a curious stirring in his belly as he found himself sinking into those incredible eyes. He shook himself slightly, annoyed at his unexpected and unwonted susceptibility. He forced his mind along a more austere path. The blush was most becoming, he mused, welcoming the cynical thought. Was she able to accomplish it at will, a knack acquired by many courtesans, or was she truly ill at ease? He sincerely hoped it was the latter.

However, her reply was given calmly. “There is not much to tell, my lord. I am from Hertfordshire. I am the only daughter of the vicar of Ridstowe. Upon his death some three years ago, I was retained as companion to Lady Strangeways. When she passed away, I came to Lady Edith.”

“Augusta Strangeways was a dear friend of mine,” added Lady Edith with a twinkle. “She was the flightiest creature imaginable in her youth, but as she grew elder and was widowed, she became a veritable recluse. She told me many times, however, after Alison came to her, of how fond she had become of the dear child, so of course, I was delighted to welcome her into my home. And I have not regretted it for a moment. She has brought me such enjoyment...” She reached over to pat Alison’s hand as the girl smiled fondly at her. The earl’s stomach clenched.

“How extremely, er, fortuitous, to be sure,” he murmured, casting Miss Fox a sardonic glance.

In another few moments, Lord Marchford drained the last of his tea and rose to his feet. Pronouncing himself eager to return later in the evening, he took his leave with an elegant bow and a flourish of the curly-brimmed beaver presented to him by Masters.

“Well!” exclaimed Lady Edith, as she turned to reenter the morning room. “What a lovely surprise. Now, I want you to wear the blue lutestring tonight, with the ... Why, my dear, whatever is the matter?”

For upon the closing of the door behind Lord Marchford, Miss Fox had sunk upon a nearby bench, where she remained, rigid and trembling.

“Lady Edith!” whispered the girl through bloodless lips. “He has come after me—just as I knew he would. Lord Marchford has come to ruin me!”

Chapter 2

How was it possible, wondered Alison numbly, for one’s world to crumble in such a short space of time—almost from one heartbeat to the next. She had been expecting it, of course. From the moment she learned that the nephew of her employer was none other than the man she knew to be her dedicated enemy, she had waited for this moment. She gazed up at Lady Edith with wide, opaque eyes.

“I must leave here, my lady!” she said firmly. “If—if you would be so kind as to give me a character—”

“What in the world are you talking about, Alison?” Lady Edith sank onto the bench beside the girl. “Leave? I won’t hear of it!”

“But, your nephew! My lady, did you see the way he looked at me? He knows! He knows who I am!”

“And who does he believe you to be, my dear?”

“Why, the wicked female who caused the death of his brother—and his brother’s wife.”

As she finished, tears gathered in her great blue eyes and she groped in the pocket of her skirt for a handkerchief.

“To be sure,” replied the older woman with a wry smile. “I’m sure he believes you to be an adventuress, but not the particular adventuress he has been seeking for four years.”

Alison
gaped at her uncomprehendingly.

“You see,” continued Lady Edith dryly, “I know my family rather well. Eleanor, March’s sister, will have informed him of my wish to bequeath to you a substantial amount of money in my will. She has concluded that you are a scheming fortune hunter who has cleverly wormed your way into my affection. She will have had no difficulty in bringing her brother to her way of thinking, jaded as he is. March, my dear, is here to buy you off.”

She sat back and observed with twinkling eyes Alison’s reaction to this statement, chuckling as the girl sought to give utterance to at least one of the furious thoughts so obviously bubbling on her lips. The old lady rose and extended her hand.

“Come, let us return to the library. I could use another cup of tea, and so, I daresay, could you.”

Alison rose mindlessly and followed her employer in a seething fog of desperation. Could Lady Edith be right? Was Lord Marchford here merely to rid his aunt of what he perceived as a threat to her wealth and well-being? She bristled at the thought, considering the hours she had spent trying to dissuade Lady Edith from making that bequest. And now, for heaven’s sake, Lady Edith was talking about giving her an additional, munificent sum outright. Alison smiled bitterly to herself. That would truly fling the cat among the pigeons. The smile faded. Her thoughts had failed to erase her true concern. Lord Marchford, though he had never met her, had vowed her ruin, and now that he was on the scene, she very much feared the day of reckoning was at hand. A familiar, sickening sense of rage, frustration, and shame roiled in the pit of her stomach as she took the chair indicated by a wave of Lady Edith’s hand.

When a fresh pot of tea had been provided by a respectful footman, the older woman spoke again.

“Now, Alison, we have been over this a hundred times. What happened to you in London four years ago is over and done with. You did nothing whatsoever of which to be ashamed, and I simply will not have you beating yourself with the dead past. I do believe March’s spur-of-the-moment visit is providential. For it is high time to cease those flying visits to relatives every time March informs us he will be coming to see me.”

Alison stared down at the teacup she held in a death grip.

“That is very kind of you, my lady, but—”

“But nothing. It is not your fault that Susannah lost more than she could afford at cards, or that—”

“Yes, but it was to me that she lost. And now, she is dead. Dear God, Lady Edith, I drove her to—to—”

Lady Edith laid a hand gently on Alison’s arm.

“Susannah was responsible for her own fate, my dear, and for her decision to take her own life. To be sure, her husband bore his share of responsibility for her unhappiness. How ironic that his one act of devotion to his wife led to his own death.”

“Oh God!” cried Alison again. “If only I had never gone to London!”

“You were there very much against your inclination, were you not? In fact, your only purpose in carrying out your charade was to help a friend.”

“Yes, poor Bethie came to me in desperation. She said I was her only recourse. We had been friends since school and she knew of my—talent at cards. I could not refuse her, for she needed the money to keep her husband out of jail, but—”

“There, you see? Despite what March believes, you did nothing dishonorable. I wish you would talk to him, Alison. Tell him who you are, as you did me. and why you found it necessary to live under a false name. Tell him how you came by your skill with the pasteboards. He will understand your motivation. You learned to play from your uncle, did you not?”

Alison smiled reluctantly. “Yes. I used to visit my Aunt and Uncle Matchingham when I was a girl. When he discovered my, er, unusual aptitude, he took great pains to induct me into the mysteries of piquet, ecarte, basset, and all the other games of chance at which fortunes are won and lost in polite society. I wish you could have seen how pleased he was when I was at last able to beat him soundly every time we sat down to the table.

“‘Allie, m’dear,’ he said, beaming proudly, ‘it’s too bad you’re not a man. You could make an excellent living at the tables.’“

“There,” said Lady Edith, “it is as I said. You could not have refused your friend in her distress. Just tell March, my dear, and—”

“No!” Alison fairly shouted the word, and Honey, curled in Lady Edith’s lap, uttered a sharp bark. Alison, embarrassed, continued in a quieter tone. “He would never believe me. All the world believes I cheated Susannah Brent out of thousands of pounds. You must not tell him, my lady! You promised—”

“Yes, yes,” replied Lady Edith soothingly. “I gave you my word, and I shall stand by it.” She hesitated. “I am pleased, my dear, that you honored me with your confidence.”

“I am, too.” Alison laughed shakily. “I could not begin our relationship with a lie, and I felt at ease with you. I am glad now that there are no falsehoods between us, for your friendship has grown to mean a great deal to me. Lady Edith.”

The older woman brushed Alison’s fingers in a gesture of affection. “Thank you, my dear. However,” she continued gravely, “I do think you are making a mistake. At any rate, as I said, March has no idea that Alison Fox is the mysterious Lissa Reynard for whom he has been searching all this time. He merely thinks you a plain, garden-variety unprincipled vixen. What is it?” she asked as Alison laughed shortly.