Authors: Adrienne Basso
Intimate Betrayal (8 page)
“My goodness,” Caroline exclaimed, her blue eyes round with wonder.
“What in the world is all this?” Lady Ogden cried in amazement. Both women turned toward Alyssa.
Alyssa stared stonily ahead, refusing to give an explanation. What can I tell them? she thought peevishly. Here is the room where I settled Lord Carrington’s gambling debts? Of course, that was before he shot himself.
“Morgan informed me you were going to inventory the estate for us,” Tristan said in a casual voice, breaking the awkward silence. “I must commend you on an excellent job, Lady Alyssa.”
Alyssa gazed at the duke with some surprise, but he was looking at his brother with equal astonishment.
“This is for us?” Caroline gasped in disbelief. “All of it?”
Everyone turned to the duke for confirmation. He cleared his throat. “Nothing but the best for my brother and his lovely bride,” he remarked in an offhand manner.
There were a few seconds of complete silence, and then the room erupted with chatter as everyone began talking at once. Alyssa’s eyes met Tristan’s and he gave her a conspiratorial wink. She felt a warm flush of gratitude at his kindness and favored him with a small smile.
Alyssa led the group outside to the rose garden, the only garden on the entire grounds that was properly maintained. The sky was ominously dark as they headed for the overgrown boxwood maze. The wind gusted mightily, and suddenly, without warning, the storm clouds burst. Everyone gave a mad dash for the terrace and rushed through the French doors into the morning room trying to avoid a soaking.
The duke latched the doors securely against the torrential rain and swirling winds. “I’m afraid if this storm doesn’t let up soon, we shall be forced to stay the night.”
Alyssa rubbed her temples absently as the pounding increased in her head. What next? she thought wearily. What next.
The rain continued with a vengeance, and Alyssa spent the next three hours with the maids, Molly and Lucy, trying to prepare suitable bedchambers for everyone. Caroline graciously insisted she and her sister would be perfectly fine sharing a room. Alyssa decided to give them her bedchamber. She would move a small bed into Mavis’s room for herself, remove her few personal belongings, and have fresh linens put on the bed. The room would be acceptable.
The duke could stay in the master suite, as he had on his first visit. With some basic housekeeping and fresh sheets, the room could be made ready for him. That left Tristan. The remaining four bedrooms in the east wing were a sorry lot at best. They were all in various stages of disrepair. In one room the fireplace smoked badly; in another there was no bed. The third room contained the best furniture—it even had a rug—but the mattress was a disgrace and the drapes smelled of mildew. The fourth room was the barest, but had the basics and boasted a comfortable bed. Alyssa decided on the fourth room for Tristan, choosing comfort over furnishings. Tristan had admirably demonstrated his good humor and easygoing charm. She doubted he would complain about his less than luxurious bedchamber.
After the rooms were finally prepared, Alyssa instructed Perkins to show everyone to their respective rooms so they could change for dinner. Next she went to the small servants’ wing off the kitchen to make arrangements for the duke’s coachman and footman. She took Lucy with her and left Molly with Caroline and Lady Ogden to assist the two gentlewomen as best she was able.
In the kitchen, Alyssa consulted with Mrs. Stratton about the dinner menu before proceeding to Mavis’s bedchamber to freshen up before the evening meal. The duke had insisted she join them for dinner, and Alyssa had been unable to refuse.
Alyssa met Morgan accidentally outside the salon doors. Morgan skillfully smoothed over the awkward moment with a gracious greeting, and her heart began pounding erratically at the sight of him in his formal black silk evening clothes. They entered the room together, but Alyssa was no longer listening to the duke’s comments about the weather. She was staring openmouthed at Tristan and Caroline. They were standing in front of the fireplace, locked in a heated, passionate embrace.
Tristan was holding Caroline tightly against his body while nibbling down the side of her neck to the hollow of her throat. Caroline’s arms were wrapped tightly around Tristan’s shoulders, and she was standing up on her toes to give him easier access to her body.
Tristan’s hands delicately cupped her breasts, rubbing against the soft curves as he moved up to take her lips in a seductive kiss. Caroline responded with a soft moan and pressed herself even closer to him.
Alyssa felt herself flush with a yearning she couldn’t name. A tightness gripped her throat as she envisioned herself locked in a similar embrace with Morgan.
The duke gave a loud cough, bringing Tristan’s head up. Still holding Caroline tightly against his lean body, Tristan turned his eyes toward the sound. “Morgan, Lady Alyssa, good evening,” he said in a cursory voice.
“Good evening, Tristan,” Morgan answered casually, clearly implying he was taking no notice of the ardent scene he and Alyssa had just interrupted. “Would you and Caroline care for a glass of sherry before dinner?” Morgan walked to the satinwood table where the wine stood and began filling glasses.
“Sherry would be just the thing,” Tristan said. “I’m sure Caroline would enjoy some.” He answered for his fiancee, who had her face hidden in his shoulder and apparently was trying to compose herself.
At first embarrassed to be caught in such a compromising position, Caroline had tried to pull away from her betrothed. Tristan had held on to her, his strong arms never relaxing their grip. So she waited, knowing Tris would release her when he was ready. Not that she wanted him to let her go. She loved him with a passion that frightened her sometimes with its intensity.
“Sherry?” Morgan held a glass up to Caroline’s ear. She choked back a laugh, then pushed gently against Tristan’s shoulder to free herself.
“Thank you, Morgan,” she said, maintaining a calm facade. Morgan gave her a wicked grin, so like Tristan’s she felt her embarrassment begin to fade.
“I think you shall make a wonderful addition to our family,” he said with a twinkle in his silver-gray eyes. “And I am deeply gratified knowing that left in your capable . . . um . . . hands, the succession to our family title will be secured. I fully expect to become a doting uncle sometime next year.”
Caroline was saved from further teasing by the arrival of Lady Ogden, who declined a drink and sat primly near the fireplace in a small rosewood armchair until Perkins announced dinner. Morgan instinctively offered his arm to Lady Ogden, before realizing Alyssa would also require an escort. Belatedly he turned to offer Alyssa his other arm, but she was already leaving the room, conversing quietly with Perkins.
There were a few awkward moments in the dining room as everyone was seated. Morgan assumed Tristan and Caroline would sit in the customary host and hostess positions at the opposite ends of the large mahogany table, leaving him free to sit where he wished. Tristan apparently had other ideas.
Tristan seated Lady Ogden and Caroline and then settled himself comfortably between the two ladies, flashing Morgan a satisfied grin. The duke had no choice but to occupy the head of the table, and Alyssa quickly sat in the remaining chair to the duke’s left.
Perkins and Ned served the turtle soup while Caroline maintained a lively flow of chatter. Alyssa learned over the fricandeau of veal and carrot pudding that Lady Ogden was a widow; her husband had been killed during the fighting on the peninsula early last year. He and Tristan had served together in the same regiment, which explained how Caroline and Tristan had met. Tristan had resigned his commission after being badly wounded in the same battle that claimed Lord Ogden’s life.
Caroline skillfully directed the dinner conversation, and during the roasted beef, broiled mutton, parsnips in butter, and boiled potatoes with mint sauce, Alyssa caught a glimpse of the raffish high society of London. It was an endless social whirl of balls, soirees, parties, and afternoon teas. The gaming clubs and prizefights, the theater and the opera, the circus and Vauxhall Gardens: it was pure fascination to Alyssa.
Alyssa studied her dinner companions during the meal, saying little. Lady Ogden maintained a very proper air, as did the duke, although he seemed to be enjoying himself. Caroline was in her glory with the majority of attention focused on her, although Alyssa saw she often glanced at Tristan. He in turn could not keep his eyes off her. He loves her, Alyssa realized with amazement. She had witnessed their passion firsthand, but it surprised her to discover their love for each other. Marriages for love were a rarity among the ton. Tristan and Caroline appeared to be among the lucky few.
As the talk turned to gossip, it was obvious Caroline held certain people in particular fascination. The first was a gentleman named George Brummell, who she constantly referred to as “Beau.”
“Well, I don’t care if Beau is no longer on good terms with the regent,” Caroline said flippantly. “I find Beau absolutely charming. His constant aim is toward a sober but exquisite perfection, and you cannot deny he has genuine good taste in everything. Beau’s clothes, house, furniture, library, all his possessions are much admired.”
“As are his eccentricities, Caroline,” the duke responded to her glowing recitation of Brummell’s character. “I’ve heard tell that he sends his washing nearly twenty miles outside of London because that is the only place it can be done properly, his boots have to be cleaned in champagne, and it takes three people to make his gloves.”
“He is an original, Morgan,” Caroline stated firmly, defending her Beau.
“Henry Cope has also been labeled an original, my dear,” Tristan said laughingly. “He is known as ‘the green man’ because everything he wears is green, his rooms and all his possessions are green, and it is said he eats nothing but green fruits and vegetables.”
“How very odd,” Alyssa slipped in.
“They are both eccentric fops,” Lady Ogden said, her tone sour.
“Honestly, Priscilla, you say that about every man who isn’t the Duke of Wellington,” Caroline replied.
“Arthur Wellesley might not be a romantic, Caroline, but he is a genius, and the best hope this country has in defeating that Corsican monster and his French marshals,” Lady Ogden said primly.
“I still prefer a true romantic,” Caroline said with good humor. She stroked Tristan’s hand. “Like my darling Tris, or that lovely Lord Byron. His poetry is sheer magic.”
“I didn’t know you were writing poetry these days, Tris,” Morgan drawled mockingly.
“You heard Caroline’s critique yourself, Morgan.” Tristan chuckled. “Sheer magic.”
“Oh, you.” Caroline wagged her fork at Tristan. “I’m not the only woman in London who finds Lord Byron fascinating. I’ve heard tell of a very married lady who is wildly indiscreet where Byron is concerned. They are seen everywhere together, and after late-night parties she always leaves in his carriage.”
“Poor Lord Melbourne,” Lady Ogden sympathized. “How perfectly dreadful to be unable to control your own wife.”
“Anyone who would allow an impulsive woman like Caroline Lamb loose in London deserves the scandal she causes,” the duke sneered.
“But she does have marvelous legs,” Tristan quipped. “I saw her at Lad Holland’s ball last week. She hadn’t been invited, so she turned up in her favorite masquerade: a page boy.”
“Tristan!” Lady Ogden admonished. “That is quite enough about Caroline Lamb’s physical attributes. I hardly think that is fit conversation for our dinner table.” She looked to the duke for his support.
“Tell us the latest news from the War Ministry, Tris,” Morgan requested mildly.
Tristan nodded his head and repeated the latest war news. Alyssa noticed it seemed to appease Lady Ogden. She became more attentive and relaxed. Alyssa supposed listening to news about the war made her feel closer to her dead husband.
The gentlemen did not linger over their port, but instead joined the ladies in the front salon. Tristan persuaded Lady Ogden to play the pianoforte, while he and Caroline sat very close together on a nearby settee.
Alyssa retreated to a faded, overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, hoping to remain unobtrusive until she could excuse herself. She was no sooner seated than Morgan materialized at her side, dragging a rosewood armchair with him so he could sit near her.
“You were very quiet during dinner this evening, Miss Carrington,” the duke said.
“Was I?”
“I hope you did not find our talk of London boring.”
“Quite the contrary, Your Grace,” Alyssa replied. “I found it very . . . enlightening. It made me realize how very little I know of society.”
“Do you wish to know more? Firsthand perhaps?”
She shook her head. “I learned a long time ago it is fruitless to want what can never be,” she said simply.
“You will be content to pass the rest of your days alone, in your tiny cottage, Miss Carrington? Funny, I thought you a woman of more spirit,” Morgan said provocatively.
She did not disappoint him. Morgan saw her spirit emerge with a flash of fire in her green eyes.
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