Double Deception (9 page)

Alarmed at these mixed feelings regarding the very female he had hoped to dispatch back to London as soon as possible, the earl rose abruptly to his feet, excused himself to the ladies, and reminded Perry that they had an appointment in the stables to look at a new hunter.

His normally loquacious son was oddly silent as they walked down to the stables. Sylvester wondered if Perry's thoughts had remained behind in the Blue Dragon Saloon with the captivating Miss Rathbone.

Was his son's conscience troubling him? he wondered. Or was it merely his own that had become unexpectedly fastidious?

***

Athena's rest was disturbed by fleeting dreams in which she attempted fruitlessly to escape from vaguely familiar assailants, who assumed various disguises to confuse her. First it was the incomparable Miss Rathbone, all smiles and pretty dimples, who suddenly became a witch with sagging jowls and hollow eyes. Then Lord St. Aubyn's handsome face, smiling at her seductively, turned into a leering monster before her horrified gaze. Even her fair-haired, innocent Perry changed from an adoring boy into a thin-faced, lecherous roue who grasped at her with evil intent. When Lady Sarah and the elegant Mrs. Rathbone appeared riding on broomsticks and attired in witches' habits, Athena gave up and scrambled out of bed to sit by the window, waiting impatiently for the dawn.

Quite unable to face either her hosts or their latest house guests, she spent the morning in the nursery with Aunt Mary and Penny. For a short while she was able to forget that they were in Cornwall, unwelcome guests of the Earl of St. Aubyn, but as the hour appointed for the excursion to the Abbey approached, Penny insisted upon hearing once again the history of the ruined Norman Abbey and the events surrounding its decay. Perry had already told the story several times, adding grim details—most assuredly invented on the spur of the moment, Athena guessed—of ghostly monks haunting the walled gardens and shrieks reportedly heard from the dungeons by local farmers. Penny had made the grinning Peregrine promise her a guided tour of the dungeons, where—or so he claimed— fragments of bones belonging to the unfortunate monks could still be found if one knew where to look.

Athena had looked forward to the outing as a chance to talk privately with Peregrine as they had done so frequently in London. She had agreed to ride with him rather than go in the carriage with the other ladies. Lord St. Aubyn had declined to accompany them, pleading a prior engagement, and Athena was relieved to know that she would have Perry to herself without his father's dampening presence.

Now she was not so sure. The arrival of the Rathbone ladies threatened to disrupt the delicate balance of relationships at the Castle. But what form would this disruption take? Athena wondered as she descended to the hall with Penelope and Mrs. Eas-ton. In view of Perry's quite inexcusable behavior yesterday at tea, and again in the drawing room after dinner, when he had appeared to hang on every inconsequential word uttered by the beautiful Miss Rathbone, Athena did not dare to examine the alternatives too closely.

"Will we see the monks in the garden, Mama?" Penelope demanded for the fifth time since breakfast, her voice hushed in anticipation.

"Perry said the ghosts only appear at night, dear," she replied calmly, wishing, not for the first time, that her betrothed had more sense than to intrigue a seven-year-old with tales of phantoms and long-buried bones.

"Mama, I want to ride with you and Perry," her daughter declared, airing one of her chief protests about the planned excursion.

"You do not know how to ride, love," Athena explained patiently, nodding to Jackson as she stepped out into the morning sunshine.

"Perry said he would teach me, Mama. If you agree. Do say you will agree, Mama," she pleaded. "Perry," she called excitedly to the viscount, who stood talking to one of the grooms, "you did promise to teach me to ride, did you not?"

Penelope ran down the shallow steps to pull impetuously on Perry's arm, but Athena's attention was drawn to the third horse held by the earl's groom. Her heart sank. It was the earl's big chestnut, Ajax.

Athena came down to stand beside Tarantella, the dappled gray mare she had ridden during the past week. The mare nipped playfully at the sleeve of her bottle-green riding habit, and Athena rummaged in her pocket for the lump of sugar she had remembered to bring with her. Tarantella accepted the offering greedily, rolling it around with her tongue and nodding her head up and down, eyes closed contentedly.

"Mama!" Her daughter's voice distracted Athena from the somber thoughts that had intruded upon her at the sight of the earl's mount. "Did you hear what Perry said, Mama? He is going to teach me to ride tomorrow. On his old pony Buttercup. He says that you may come, too, if you like," Penny added, her voice high with excitement.

Before Athena could reply, there was a commotion at the top of the stair, and a chatter of female voices. Or rather the chatter of one particular female voice, she thought, listening to the tinkling laughter and light teasing banter of Miss Rathbone. The deeper contralto of her grandmother remarking on the splendid weather, quite as though she had arranged it personally, told Athena that the party was getting ready to depart.

"Help me to mount, will you, Perry," she said, glancing over her shoulder at her betrothed. "Perry!" she repeated when it became obvious that the viscount was paying her not the slightest heed. Following his gaze, Athena saw what had captured his rapt attention.

The Beauty was advancing slowly down the steps towards the carriage, and even the grooms were staring at her, their mouths agape. If Miss Rathbone had appeared beautiful yesterday in pink, this morning she was absolutely ravishing in the palest of blues. Her hair, arranged in elaborate ringlets around her heart-shaped face, gleamed golden in the sunlight, and her pansy-blue eyes danced with anticipation.

Those hypnotic eyes, Athena noticed with a sinking feeling, were riveted firmly on Peregrine's face. The viscount appeared oblivious of everything else.

Athena turned back to the mare, murderous thoughts concerning the delectable person of Miss Rathbone chasing one another through her head.

"Allow me, my dear Mrs. Standish." The faintly amused voice came from immediately behind her, and Athena did not need to turn her head to know that the earl had witnessed her mortification.

What could she do, she fumed, but allow herself to be tossed up into the saddle by the very gentleman she had hoped to avoid? She was so incensed at Perry's rudeness—for what else could it be? she told herself—that Athena could barely bring herself to thank the earl civilly before urging the mare away from the crowd gathering around the carriages.

Repressing the sudden desire to give the mare her head and gallop away from the source of her frustration, Athena drew rein under one of the massive oaks that dotted the Park. The mare danced about nervously, tossing her small head and rattling the bit. She would have to pull herself together, Athena thought, or Tarantella might take it into her head to bolt. The last thing she needed was to take a fall in front of all these peo-pie.

The sound of hooves on gravel caused her to turn sharply, but her smile died when she saw Lord St. Aubyn approaching on his big chestnut. In the distance, the number of people milling around the carriages seemed to have increased, as servants hurried out with baskets of food and wine, blankets, cushions, folding tables and even chairs that they loaded into a sturdy gig drawn up behind the open carriages that had been ordered to convey the ladies to the Abbey ruins.

In the center of this pandemonium, Athena could clearly see the Beauty standing up in the first carriage, gesturing to Perry to place a cushion here, a rug there. Her tinkling voice could also be heard instructing her dear viscount to hand up her parasol, and to make sure that the book of poetry she intended to read aloud after their picnic lunch was stowed safely under the seat.

Not once did Peregrine glance in her direction, Athena noted, her lips settling into thin lines. Only after Miss Rathbone finally nestled herself on the velvet seat did Perry turn to hand up Lady Sarah and Mrs. Rathbone. Penelope and Aunt Mary had been relegated to the second carriage with the baskets of crockery, presumably because dear Viviana's nerves could not support the chatter of children, Mrs. Rathbone's dramatic voice was heard explaining to Lady Sarah and everyone else within two miles of the front door.

Athena sighed with relief when she saw Perry mount his horse, but when he trotted up it was not to join her as they had planned.

"Aunt Sarah has asked me to ride beside her carriage to point out the landmarks on the estate to Mrs. Rathbone, who has expressed an interest in them," he explained hurriedly, an embarrassed grin on his face. "Perhaps we can ride back together, Athena," he added lamely. "I shall ask Father to accompany you in my stead."

Without trusting herself to speak, Athena swung her mare and cantered off, her back ramrod-straight, her temper barely under control.

Several minutes passed before Athena heard the sound of the chestnut's hooves behind her, but she was relieved when the earl did not immediately appear at her side. At least he had the sense to know that his company would not be welcome, she thought grimly, holding the mare down to a canter with some difficulty. Her emotions had suffered such a severe shock that Athena felt her hands trembling, and the mare, sensing her anger as horses always do, was looking for a chance to bolt.

Athena was tempted to drop her hands and allow the mare to work out her fidgets in a wild gallop. Her own agitated spirit might find some solace in the rush of the wind against her face; but prudence prevailed. A mile down the road Athena remembered they would have to ford a stream, so she reluctantly brought Tarantella down to a trot.

As if on signal, the earl brought his chestnut up beside her, and Athena waited tensely for him to make some mocking remark. When he remained silent, she relaxed slightly.

"You are an excellent horsewoman, Mrs. Standish," he remarked, his deep voice oddly soothing.

Athena glanced at him. "I am country-born, my lord," she said shortly, hoping he would not expect her to carry on a polite conversation. After the mortification she had suffered at his son's hands, she was not at all sure she wished to be civil to Lord St. Aubyn.

He said no more until they had crossed the ford, then unexpectedly, he asked her about her childhood.

"I understand you were a Rofhingham before you married Standish," he began. "Would you by any chance be related to Sir Henry Rothingham up in Somerset?"

"Why, yes," she exclaimed, surprised and not a little pleased that her family was known to the earl. "Sir Henry is my father. Rothingham Manor, where I grew up, is not far from Bath. It was there, at one of the summer assemblies, that I met John."

She stopped abruptly, conscious of the old ache in her heart at the memory of her lost husband.

Why was she speaking of John to this man? she wondered. What could he possibly know of her painful memories? Or care, for that matter? His was a privileged life here at his ancestral castle. He knew nothing of rejection; how could he? While she still carried those invisible scars, inflicted first by her husband's family in denying her status as John's wife, then by her father in refusing to give her a home with him when John's regiment was sent to Spain. And then of course, there was the loss of John himself, a shattering experience Athena knew she would never entirely get over. Now it appeared that she was to lose Peregrine, too.

She felt her throat tighten and fixed her eyes rigidly on the road ahead. It had been a terrible mistake to come here, she thought. She should have allowed Perry to send the announcement of their betrothal to the Gazette, and married him in London, as he had begged her to. By now she would have been safe as his viscountess. She and Penelope would have had a home again. They would have been a family with Perry, whose affection for her daughter she had never doubted.

Had they stayed in London, she would never have met this odious man who rode beside her, exuding confidence that he could and would prevent her from achieving that romantic dream she had yearned for. Neither would they have encountered the ravishing Miss Rathbone, who obviously imagined Viscount Fairmont to be a prize ripe for the taking. She was unaware of Perry's betrothal, naturally, but would that have made the slightest difference to the fair-haired Beauty?

Perhaps she should have agreed to make their attachment public, Athena mused. Perry had certainly urged her to do so. But then again perhaps not, an unexpected voice whispered perversely. Might it not be that Peregrine was also a mistake?

This thought came so unexpectedly into her mind that Athena gasped. Quickly, she pushed it aside. If she once admitted such a heresy, her fragile dreams would irrevocably crumble, and Lord St. Aubyn would be proved correct. She could not allow that to happen.

"Rothingham was one of my father's Oxford cronies," the earl was saying, just as though she had never mentioned John. "From the tales he used to tell, I gather they both belonged to a hell-raising coterie of young blades who spent more energy on senseless wagers than on their studies. After he came into the title, of course, my father had other responsibilities and lost touch with his old friends."

She could well believe that, Athena thought with sudden bitterness. The grand new Earl of St. Aubyn would hardly wish to continue a connection with an obscure baronet in Somerset. Startled at her sudden and unreasonable cynicism, Athena glanced at the earl.

"Father never mentioned the connection, my lord," she said. "But that does not surprise me; it was all so long ago."

"When you next see Sir Henry, you might tell him that Father always spoke of those days at Oxford with nostalgia. My own memories of the place are rather less pleasant, I must admit."

Athena took a deep breath and spoke without looking at him. "I can hardly tell my father anything, my lord, since I am
persona non grata
at Rothingham Manor."