The Wicked Sister

by Lancaster, Mary

  Before even considering breakfast, she went to the library.

  Michael sat in his usual place, writing. Her heart gave a nervous lurch. As she walked decisively into the room, he glanced up and rose immediately to his feet.

  “Good morning, Lady Maria,” he said formally, and stupidly, it hurt. Yesterday, he had called her simply Maria.

  “Good morning,” she replied, glancing around the room to make sure they were alone.

  For his part, he came around to her side of the table, but let her walk up to him. It wasn’t rudeness, merely to give them the privacy of greater distance to the door.

  “I have to apologize for my behavior yesterday,” he said in a rush. “I was so pleased to find you safe that I’m afraid I let the excitement propel me into inappropriate action. I hope you can forgive me.”

  It was so exactly what she wanted to hear, saving her the trouble of saying something similar herself, that she could only stare at him. He looked unnaturally pale, apart from the shadows under his eyes. He, too, had passed a difficult night. And she couldn’t bear him to feel badly, even though his words wounded her. They shouldn’t, but they did.

  “Of course I can,” she managed. “For the relief and excitement seemed to affect me in the same way. We can both set it aside and keep our friendship.”

  “Friendship,” he repeated. He smiled. It might have been only her imagination that made it seem a little forced. “Of course. I’m relieved you still wish to be friends.”

  “Of course,” she said breezily. She even smiled back. “I’m very glad to be. And so grateful for what you did. And now I’m going to have breakfast!”

  If her gaiety was just a little forced, too, she hoped he would not notice, for in truth it felt better to have cleared the air, to have acknowledged they were wrong, and yet still be friends. She might even end up friends with Judith! In fact, she might visit the inn today with that purpose in mind.

  After breakfast, she went in search of her younger sisters, who were making the most of their last hour of freedom before lessons began with Miss Harker.

  They had taken possession of the drawing room while the castle was still quiet, so that Helen could play the piano. Alice had stretched out on the rug before the fireplace. Her water colors were set up on the hearth, and she appeared to be painting a design based on a brightly striped covered button that sat on the rug beside her.

  “The button looks familiar,” Maria observed. “Is it Tamar’s?”

  “It could be,” Alice said distractedly. “I suppose. I found it in the arbor. I do like the colors, though. I don’t know whether to make it someone’s dress or a pair of curtains in a colorful room.”

  “Or a very natty waistcoat,” Maria suggested, and then its familiarity snapped into place. “That’s where I’ve seen it before! Mr. Gayle wore a waistcoat just like that at the ball.”

  “Oh, well, I suppose I should give the button back to him before he leaves. When does he leave?”

  “The day after tomorrow, I think. And then we’ll all go back to London on Thursday or Friday, I suppose.” Maria listened to Helen for a little. She was playing something unusual, but just as Maria opened her mouth to ask about it, the button caught her eye once more. “You found it in the arbor,” she repeated, gazing at Alice. “When?”

  “A few days ago. The day after the ball, maybe? I don’t remember exactly, but you can stop worrying. I will give it back!”

  “Of course you will,” Maria said and sat back on her heels, deep in thought.

  Michael had seen Gideon meet someone in the arbor the night of the ball, someone who had given him documents of some kind. Gayle? A member of parliament, brother-in-law to Lord Underwood, could he really be involved in the production and distribution of illegal pamphlets?

  “Oh, I haven’t told you yet, have I?” Alice said, laying down her brush for a moment to grin up at Maria. “My painting sold! I am owed two pounds! And Michael is going to take the gallery another of my paintings when he collects the money for the last one.”

  “Well done, Alice, that is excellent news!”

  When Miss Harker came for the girls, Maria contemplated a brisk walk into Blackhaven. However, before she could do anything about it, the footman brought her a message from Gervaise, asking for her presence in the small drawing room.

  She went with a trace of unease, wondering if her sisters might have told him after all about yesterday’s adventure. However, she saw at once that Lord Underwood was present, too, so she knew she wasn’t about to be scolded.

  Such was her relief that the truth of the situation didn’t enter her head until Gervaise said, “Ah, Maria. Lord Underwood has asked to speak to you, and I have given my permission with pleasure! I’ll leave you for a few minutes.”

  Finally, alarm bells went off in her mind, but it was too late. Gervaise, with a quick smile at her that was meant to be both reassuring and encouraging, closed the door behind him, and she was left alone with Lord Underwood, poised for flight.

  “I wish you did not look quite so terrified,” Lord Underwood remarked. “I don’t usually have that effect on you.”

  She tried to laugh. “Indeed, you don’t, and I’m not. I was merely thinking of something else entirely and you have taken me by surprise.”

  He came to a halt in front of her with his eyebrows raised in amusement. “Oh, come now. If you are genuinely surprised, you must be the only person in the castle who is.”

  She folded her hands together, pressing hard on the sore part of her palm with her thumb. This was not difficult, not half as difficult as facing Michael in the library earlier. Besides, she had already turned down two marriage proposals this year—three if she counted Mr. Beauchamp.

  “Please say no more,” she said, so firmly that Underwood blinked. “If you are about to ask what I think you are, please don’t. I have quite decided I shall never marry, and I am sorry if you have been misled to the contrary.”

  “Never?” he mocked, clearly diverted and not taking her remotely seriously. “Is that really a decision to make at seventeen?”

  “I don’t think it’s the age but the sentiment that matters.”

  Amusement still lurked in his eyes. “Do you feel you should give up so young on the prospect of love?”

  “It is not love but marriage that I eschew.”

  “Hmm.” He appeared to think about it, but his eyes still laughed at her. “You don’t feel that for a young lady of your class, it would be more comfortable to take the two together?”

  “Sadly, that will not be possible for me.”

  For the first time since she had entered the room, his smile seemed to freeze. “You are telling me,” he said carefully, “that you will not accept my offer because you are in love with another?”

  Since it seemed less hurtful than No, I wouldn’t have married you anyway, she nodded.

  “But you will not marry him either?” Underwood pursued.

  She shook her head, pressing again on her wounded hand.

  Underwood kept his eyes unblinkingly on hers. “Then let me suggest an alternative to a long and lonely spinsterhood. Marry me and have your own establishments and your independence. The marriage shall be just as you wish, and I will not touch you without your express permission.”

  This time, he had truly taken her by surprise. She stared at him, frowning for several seconds before her lips twisted into a smile. “Do you know, if I liked you less, I might just have accepted that offer. But you would not be happy with such a marriage, and in truth, neither would I.”

  His lips twitched. “We could try it and see how it goes.”

  “You want an heir,” she said flatly. “And you imagine you will persuade me in time. I’m afraid you won’t, and you do truly deserve better than that. Than me.”

  His eyes had always been veiled, but they seemed more so now. “Is that how young ladies are supposed to reject marriage proposals now?”

  She shook her head. “No, but the correct wo
rds went out of my head.”

  She thought a tremor of laughter passed through him and smiled encouragingly. “Good day, my lord.” She curtsied and left the room.

  Seeing her brother pacing to the left, she almost strode off to the right, but with a sigh, she forced herself to go and speak to him.

  “I can’t marry Lord Underwood,” she said flatly. “I don’t love him.”

  “But you like him,” Gervaise urged. “Love will grow.”

  “Like it did with you and Eleanor?” she said disparagingly. “Gervaise, everyone knows you were head over heels in love with her well before you were married. You cannot expect me to be the first of the family to accept a marriage of mere convenience.”

  He closed his mouth and Maria, taking advantage of the silence, ran upstairs to fetch her pelisse. On the way back down, she looked into the library to tell Michael about the button Alice had found in the arbor, but to her disappointment, he was not there.

  Perhaps it was as well. She would get over her foolish infatuation quicker if she saw him less.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After apologizing to Maria and receiving her understanding, Michael imagined he would feel better. He knew he had done the right thing, but as she walked out of the library door, a lump rose in his throat. He had the uneasy suspicion he was doing something very wrong for both of them and yet, with every ounce of his honor, he was bound to Judith.

  He jumped up and went in search of Lord Braithwaite. Discovering the earl in his dressing room, he asked bluntly, “Do you need me for anything today?”

  “Nothing that cannot wait. Do you have plans?”

  “I thought I might walk into town and show Miss Warren something of Blackhaven.”

  “Of course, you must. Oh, and if they are returning to London at the same time as we are, I hope they’ll join us.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Michael said, rather touched, even though he knew Judith wouldn’t be. But perhaps it was exactly what she needed to broaden her mind and remove the foolish belief that a man of wealth or title was necessarily evil. “I’ll mention it to her.”

  He strode briskly along the road to Blackhaven, eschewing the beach so that he wouldn’t appear before his fastidious betrothed covered in sand with salt stains on his boots. Perhaps he would come home that way instead.

  He had never been to the King’s Head before, and he was glad to find it a clean and cozy house, without the expensive opulence of the hotel. The innkeeper, Trent, and his wife seemed very young but hardworking and friendly.

  When Michael asked for Miss Warren and Mrs. Derby, Mrs. Trent walked across the entrance hall that seemed to serve as a coffee room and knocked on the door of a private parlor.

  Receiving permission, she stuck her head in. “Gentleman to see you, ladies. Shall I show him in?”

  “Michael!” Judith exclaimed, rising with enthusiasm to greet him. She had been sitting at the table with two pamphlets open in front of her, while her sister sat in the armchair by the fire, her embroidery in her lap. “I’m so glad you’ve come!”

  Her eagerness caused another guilty twinge in his stomach, rather than the pleasure he should have felt.

  “Some tea or coffee, sir?” Mrs. Trent asked.

  He accepted coffee, and the ladies asked for tea, after which Judith all but dragged him to the table to show him what she was reading.

  “This is yours,” he said with genuine warmth, recognizing the style of writing, which was always more impassioned than the face she showed the world. If he was honest, it was the contrast between the two that had first attracted him to her. Outwardly cerebral and inwardly passionate about her cause.

  “What do you think?” she asked eagerly when he had read her ideas for combatting poverty.

  “I think it’s excellent and just what is needed,” he said honestly.

  Her eyes sparkled. “I was afraid you would have lost your fire and become like the earl.”

  “The earl will achieve more than we ever could. There is a place for both…” He moved onto the other pamphlet while the refreshments were brought in. He drank absently as he read. This one was much more political and rousing people to awareness of what they could do to change their lot.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  He raised his eyes to hers. “I like it. But I wouldn’t publish it, let alone distribute it just yet.”

  “Why ever not?” she demanded.

  “Because the authorities are too nervous,” he said frankly. “Wait a couple of months until Bonaparte is defeated, or you’ll need a very secret printing press! Are these the new projects you were talking about?”

  “Actually, no,” she said, “But if you don’t like this, you’ll be far too wary of the other.”

  “I’m only wary for now,” he said mildly. “I like everything you’ve written in this second pamphlet and will happily distribute them everywhere I go when the time is right.”

  She flung something else at him. “And that?”

  It was two sheets of paper covered in a closely written hand that was not her own. It was, he saw at once, denouncing the war and Wellington. More than that, it described the soldiers as mere cannon fodder, the gentlemen’s way of keeping down the numbers of the poor so that they wouldn’t rise up against them. Aimed at common soldiers and junior officers—who would, presumably, have to read it to the vast majority—it clearly named the senior officers as the gentlemen concerned and referred to them as the enemy. If Betts ever saw this…

  Michael raised his eyes to Judith’s slightly flushed face. “Where did you get this?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Actually, it does. You must see this is beyond the pale. If it doesn’t get its distributors killed, it will get the soldiers killed. Both, probably. Have you forgotten my own brother is involved in this conflict? Even if he wasn’t, this is utterly irresponsible, Judith. You can’t seriously be involved in anything so stupid?”

  She stared at him. “Then you won’t help me?”

  “No, I won’t. Not with this. More than that, I need your promise you’ll have nothing to do with it.”

  She stared at him with a hint of belligerence, then looked down at the handwritten sheets and very slowly back to his face. She didn’t look pleased.

  “Very well,” she said ungraciously. “But the first one you will help with.”

  “Of course, what do you need?”

  “The direction of a printer to make further copies, and your help distributing them.”

  “Of course,” he said at once. “There is a printer in Blackhaven who is quick and reasonable. Nimmo.”

  “And if he refuses because it’s too radical for him?”

  “I don’t think he will, but there is Kendrick in Whalen who will not quibble.” He picked up the pen and wrote the direction for both on a scrap of paper. “But I won’t be deflected, Judith. Where did you get this one?” He held up the handwritten sheets.

  “From a friend,” she said evasively.

  “A very bad friend to you,” Michael said grimly. “Did you know there was a government man here, looking for just this sort of thing? He’s even staying at this inn.” He scrunched the papers up and strode to the fire, but at the last moment, Judith snatched it out of his hand.

  “Don’t,” she said. “That doesn’t seem right either. Look, I’ve already promised you I won’t print this one, or the other one, right now. What more do you want? Blood?”

  “No, just the name of whoever gave you it.”

  “I won’t tell you that. You’ll tell your earl.”

  In fact, he was more likely to tell Mr. Betts, but not until Judith was far enough away from it. But he could not force her, and at least she had promised not to print them for now. And he was sure she would give in eventually.

  So, he joined his betrothed and Mrs. Derby for a light luncheon, and then took her round to the print shop to introduce her to Mr. Nimmo. At no time did she drop her guard or seem even tempted to tell him who
had written the tract in her parlor, which worried him.

  “I’m trying to look after you, Judith,” he said gently as he took his leave of her.

  “That’s as silly and sentimental as imagining water can cure every sickness. Which everyone appears to believe about this place! I don’t need looking after, Michael.”

  “Nonsense,” he retorted. “Everyone does.”

  “Even the great Michael Hanson, slave to his lordship of Braithwaite?”

  “Especially him,” Michael said wryly. “Though it’s hardly a reasonable comparison, is it?”

  Judith flushed, perceiving his words as a rebuke. “Of course, I know that. You needn’t pull me up for a joke,”

  Michael, suddenly dissatisfied with every aspect of the day, hastened to leave before it got worse. On the other hand, while he trusted Judith not to break her promises, he didn’t trust her to stay away from trouble. And if he could identify where the wretched tract had come from, he could possibly kill three birds with one stone—keep Judith safe, draw Heath’s teeth once and for all, and help preserve the country.

  He ordered a beer and sat on a wooden bench outside the inn to drink it. Thus, he was in a prime position to see the carriage that drew into the inn yard, the Earl of Braithwaite’s arms emblazoned on its side.

  From instinct, he turned sideways, tipping his hat forward across his face. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maria alight alone from the carriage and walk into the inn without glancing to right or left.

  What in the world was she doing here? Dear God, had she come to make friends with Judith? With sudden clarity, he saw the impossibility. Maria was open and generous-hearted with everyone. Despite her good works, Judith was not. For the first time, he acknowledged he did not like that about Judith.

  He started after Maria, hoping she was looking for someone else altogether, but from the inn doorway, he saw the innkeeper conduct her to the same private parlor he had just left.