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Authors: Lord Fairchild's Daughter

Maggie MacKeever (6 page)

BOOK: Maggie MacKeever
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The irresponsible Lord Fairchild would be unlikely to reappear.  As for his daughter, Theo had little hope of claiming that prize. It was a pity; she looked to be a lively piece, and he’d made extensive plans for her. However, there was Felicity to console him, now that Vere had tired of her. Theo had little doubt that, with a little cunning, he could win Felicity’s allegiance, if not her greedy little heart. Nourishing few illusions about his love, Theo yawned again.

Felicity remained uncharacteristically silent. She was busy with schemes for her immediate future, which seemed dim indeed now that Averil had withdrawn his patronage. Her creditors would dun her mercilessly.

“A pretty bauble, this,” said Theo, with poorly disguised scorn, as he fingered Averil’s brooch. “A pity it won’t bring enough to keep you from debtors’ prison.”

He dropped it carelessly onto the table, and Felicity winced.

“It’s but a fit of pique,” she protested, with scant belief in her own words. “Vere will soon regret his hastiness.”

“I doubt that. He’s long since tired of you, as everyone but yourself knows.”

Felicity flushed, and bit her lip to keep back the angry words. She knew better than to rip up at Theo.

He watched her with amusement. Felicity’s thoughts were written on her face for anyone to read. Anger was replaced by calculation, and then she burst into heartrending tears.

“Ah, Theo,” she wailed, “I am desolated. Whatever shall I do?”

“Vere is an abominable creature,” Theo agreed. “Who would have suspected that the noble Duke of Chesshire could behave so shabbily? It was quite a revelation to me, I assure you.”

Felicity sniffled. “He is an unconscionable scoundrel to treat me so. I have been quite taken in! To think that the duke would behave so beggarly!”

“As to that,” Theo replied, “you were ill-advised to involve yourself with so noted a profligate. Whatever prompted you to do so, by the bye? It is hardly to be wondered at if he offered you false coin.”

“I have nourished a serpent in my bosom!” Felicity moaned.

“Poor puss,” Theo sympathized. “You must feel quite mortified. Here you’ve engaged in a vulgar little quarrel with Vere, and consequently have no means to settle your debts.”

Felicity regarded him with a watery but hopeful eye. “This has brought me to a standstill. I do not see how I am to make a recover. If I cannot put off my creditors, there’s nothing to do but to put a period to my existence!”

“So you have said.  Pray spare me further dramatics.  Unless you wish me to also become bored.”

“Theo!” Felicity quivered with indignation. “I think very poorly of your attitude. How can you not partake of my sentiments?  I am impoverished!”

“So you have said.  That’s no bread and butter of mine.”

“That wretch will pay for this,” Felicity said, with a remarkable change of mood. “To think that he would so treat me!”

“Indeed, and pay he should,” Theo smoothly agreed. “Think what he has done to your good name, your reputation. I vow, I have never been so mistaken in a man.”

Felicity regarded Theo’s sympathetic countenance with suspicion. “How can this be?” she demanded. “You’ve known him since he was a boy.”

“Yes, alas,” Theo mourned. “He has always exhibited a sad want of conduct, an unhappy lack of principle, that have made me grieve for his unfortunate family. I had hoped that age and experience would show him the error of his ways, but apparently it is not to be. Vere will come to an unhappy ending, I fear.”

“Gammon!” retorted Felicity, her tears forgotten. “Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes. But do advise me, dearest Theo. How am I to go on?”

“Have you considered entering a convent, sweet? You
could
fall into a decline, but I fear you could not enjoy yourself properly with the wolves howling at your door.”

“The devil!” Felicity was in high dudgeon. “I had thought
you
would stand my friend, Theo!”

“And so I will, but I will not settle your accounts. I’m no pigeon for your plucking, my dear. Save your vapors and tales of woe for the young bloods who flock so eagerly to your door.”

“Just a small loan, Theo, a trifling amount to keep my creditors at bay. I swear I’ll repay you.”

Theo allowed his gaze to wander over Felicity’s ample form. She was a sight to stir a man’s blood, even disheveled as she was. “And what will you tender as collateral? I believe in plain speaking, you know.”

“I have nothing.” Felicity gazed soulfully at the floor.

“On the contrary, sweet, you have a great deal to offer.” Theo rose lazily from his chair. Felicity remained silent, the better to maintain her role of ingénue, and Theo carefully removed his coat.

“I think it time to pay a visit to the ancestral home.” This idle comment was rewarded by a puzzled glance from Felicity’s fine blue eyes. “It lies near Ballerfast, alas. I suspect it’s too much to hope that I will not encounter the Duke of Chesshire.”

“Theo!” Felicity clapped her hands with glee. “You have hit upon a scheme!”

Theo bestowed upon her a brilliant smile, and prepared to remove his boots.

 

Chapter 4

 

Loveday
awoke with an extraordinary sense of confusion. Her dreams had been chaotic; she’d thought herself falling from the old castle wall, and had sat bolt upright in bed, only to be confronted by a wraithlike figure clad in white. Too befuddled even to cry out, Loveday merely stared. The intruder abruptly extinguished its candle and vanished, leaving Loveday to wonder whether she was still caught up in a dream. Had her visitor actually existed? If so, was it phantom or flesh and blood? Eventually sleep claimed her again, and she dreamed no more that night.

Loveday climbed out of bed, crossed the room to stand at her window. She had begun to seriously doubt the wisdom of her decision to come to Ballerfast.  Too many inexplicable things had happened since her arrival. On the other hand, although the castle was not comfortable, neither was it dull.

The silence was that of early morning, and it was a perfect day for a ride. Loveday found the old pair of Jem’s breeches that she used on such occasions, and quickly dressed. Dillian’s amulet still hung around her neck.

Loveday surveyed herself critically in the mirror as she dragged a brush through her tangled curls. Her features were far too unconventional for beauty: her nose was subtly aquiline and unfortunately freckled, her mouth was overly generous. Even worse, she was too slender, with none of the voluptuous curves so admired by gentlemen. True, her eyes were large and heavily lashed, but in Loveday’s opinion, they did little to atone for her other shortcomings. She made a face at her reflection, and crept quietly down the stairs.

It seemed, indeed, that she had visited Ballerfast before; Loveday found her way out of the castle and to the stables without difficulty. Her inability to remember that earlier visit perplexed her, and it was with relief that she recognized the familiar figure of her younger brother. He, too, had wished an early ride, and was already mounted.

“Jem!” Loveday hurried over the uneven ground toward him. He smiled and grasped her hand to pull her up behind him.

“Hoyden!” he responded cheerfully. “Isolda would have your head on a platter if she saw you in that rig. And mine, too, come to think of it!”

“Stuff! She’s too much the lady to make such a fuss.” Privately, Loveday resolved to garb herself more conventionally in the future. She didn’t care to put Isolda’s tolerance to the test.

There was much to be discussed, for Loveday had found little opportunity to be private with Jem of late. Her brother, usually immune to female charms, had completely succumbed to Dillian and was most often to be found in that young lady’s company. Loveday would have laughed at this obvious infatuation with a mere schoolgirl, had its object been other than Dillian. Jem was only nineteen, despite the maturity he had gained with the management of his father’s estates. Loveday decided that if he was serious about the young woman, then have her he would, even if it meant spiriting Dillian away in the face of Isolda’s disapproval. She wondered again why Isolda nourished so great a dislike for her lovely granddaughter.

Putting such confusing thoughts firmly aside, Loveday determined to enjoy her ride, while she contemplated the other members of the household. There was Hilary, a cousin of some degree, a fashionable fribble who had reached his mid-thirties. He inspired Loveday with unease, though she would have been hard-pressed to explain her dislike. Hilary was a model of elegance; his features were pleasing, if ordinary; his manner was of the most courteous and disarming. Loveday could only think that it was his eyes that disturbed her. Of a lighter shade of blue than Isolda’s, they were cold and calculating, and oddly at variance with his singularly sweet smile.

As for Hilary’s wife, Loveday thought her insufferable. Dorcas was a Beauty, and had decided notions about what was due her in consequence. Dainty features, gilded curls, and expressive dark eyes had won her admiration from her cradle; she expected constant homage, and was seldom disappointed. Dorcas’s sheer perfection was marred only by the expression of discontent that often appeared on her elegant features.

Loveday was forced to admit that the woman’s generous curves could have been expressly designed to catch the masculine eye. She wondered why Hilary kept his young wife kicking her heels in the country when she so obviously yearned for more exotic entertainments.

“Blue-deviled?” Jem inquired. Loveday discovered that they had come to a halt. She slid off the horse’s broad back and settled herself comfortably on a sun-warmed boulder.

“What’s plaguing you?” Jem asked again as he joined her. The horse lowered its head and began to explore the sparse vegetation for edible tidbits.

“I have been wanting to speak with you,” she said, in a teasing tone, “but your time seems lately to be much occupied.”

“ Tis pleasant to not be treated as some great lord’s by-blow,” Jem retorted gruffly, with no trace of his usual bantering manner.

Loveday felt a pang of guilt.  Puzzled by the strange events that plagued her, she’d spared no thought for her brother. “Forgive me, Jem. I seem to forever involve you in my scrapes!”

“Don’t be so bacon-brained! This is a grand adventure, and I wouldn’t have missed it. Or have let you set out on your own, landing in all sorts of impossible muddles.
Or
have borne the brunt of our sire’s wrath alone, thank you!”

Jem’s expression was fierce. Their parent possessed a streak of cruelty; often, stimulated by innumerable glasses of port, he’d taunted Jem with his illegitimacy. As a result, Jem had become embittered. Loveday was glad for Isolda’s forbearance, and for Dillian’s equally dubious background. It wasn’t wonderful that her brother and Isolda’s granddaughter had so quickly become fast friends.

Without further ado, Loveday plunged into a confused recitation of the strange events that had recently been her lot. To her dismay, Jem seemed more amused than apprehensive, and roared with glee when she spoke of her ghostly nocturnal visitor.

“You wretch!” Loveday exploded. “What do you find so diverting in all this?”

“Lord, what a bubble!” Jem gasped for breath. One look at Loveday’s offended countenance sent him into whoops again. Holding her tongue with an effort, Loveday stalked toward the horse.

“I think it time we returned to the castle,” she said in icy tones, and Jem controlled his mirth long enough to swing himself up behind her. Loveday maintained a wounded silence; Jem, impervious to feminine crotchets, occasionally chuckled aloud. It would serve him right, Loveday thought indignantly, if she was found murdered in her bed.

Loveday’s fury might well have lasted for the duration of the ride had not their intrepid mount taken offense at the sudden appearance of some small, quick animal. The horse reared. Loveday was thrown off.  At the same time, she heard the unmistakable sound of a rifle shot.

“What the deuce!” Jem swore, struggling to control his plunging steed. Loveday quickly scrambled to safety, wincing as her exposed flesh came into contact with jagged rocks. Jem brought the terrified animal under control, and hurried to his sister’s side.

His face was pale. “Are you all right? That was a devilish nasty fall!”


Merde
!” retorted Loveday with feeling, cradling a tingling elbow. “Who fired that gun, Jem? Did you see?”

Her brother became suddenly intent on the toes of his boots. “Jem! You cannot mean to tell me you didn’t even hear it!” He shook his head.

“I heard it, right enough.”

“But you didn’t see anyone?” Again, he shook his head. “Jem!” Loveday’s voice trembled. “That shot was meant for me. If the horse hadn’t taken fright—”

“Seems to me,” Jem interrupted gruffly, “that someone wants you out of the way. It’s plain as the nose on your face!”

“But why?” Loveday breathed, much relieved that Jem had come to take her various misadventures seriously.

“Damned if I know!” Jem hurled a rock, with great accuracy, at an inoffensive tree.

“Do you suppose Isolda was right? Maybe I
do
know who murdered those men? Jem! Do you suppose it was someone who’s at the castle now? Someone who knows I was in that room?”

“I think we’d better make our excuses and be on our way. I don’t mind telling you I don’t like this above half!”

“Pooh!” retorted Loveday. “Where should we go, pray? Just think, Jem, we may solve the mystery!”

Jem glanced at his sister with no small apprehension; he knew these impetuous humors all too well. He groaned.

“Jem! You surely don’t mean to desert me now!”

“No, no, I’m not so poor a creature. I only hope you mayn’t find yourself in even worse trouble.”

“Don’t tease yourself. I’m not so foolish as to take unnecessary risks.”

Jem rolled his eyes. “You’d best not. And you’d better not go wandering off alone. I must have windmills in my head to even think of staying. No, no,” he said as Loveday prepared to give voice to indignant protest, “don’t rip up at me! I said I’d see you through, and so I shall. But don’t try and play off your tricks with me, my girl; I’ll remind you that I have a very handy bunch of fives!” He inspected his hands. Loveday recalled several instances when Jem, goaded beyond endurance, had turned her over his knee and spanked her soundly.

BOOK: Maggie MacKeever
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