The Gentleman's Deception

by Tuft, Karen

  “I understand fully and accept your counsel and thank you for it,” Lucas said. “I shall bear it in mind. But I will not have Lavinia feel subjected to such judgment while at Alderwood.” He locked eyes with Thomas.

  “Of course not,” Thomas said and sipped his brandy. “She will be welcomed with open arms. Just not too open, obviously.” He set down his empty glass. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with Finch. Duty calls.”

  “And I must check on Clara,” Isaac said. He clasped Lucas’s hand. “It’s good to have you home at last and see for ourselves that you are well. I, for one, am greatly relieved.” He followed Thomas out the door.

  Once he and his father were alone, Lucas spoke. “There is one other matter I wish to discuss with you, Father, if I may,” he said. “I would ask for your advice regarding Lavinia’s farm. It is called Primrose Farm, ten or so miles north of here. Have you heard of it?”

  “Primrose Farm.” His father’s brow furrowed in thought. “The old Harrison place? Haven’t thought of it in years. That’s hers now, is it?”

  “Yes, and nobody has thought about it much, from the looks of it,” Lucas said. “It’s time someone did.”

  “I should have taught all my boys something of managing an estate, not just Thomas, despite the fact that I had only one estate and five sons who needed livings. I’ll do my best to help you and your Miss Fernley with her farm. We can discuss it further tomorrow, and I’m sure Thomas and Finch would be agreeable to helping as well. In the meantime, however, I suggest you get reacquainted with your ancestral home,” his father said, rising to his feet. “Go settle in and rest.”

  Lucas rose as well. “Thank you, Father. It is truly good to be home at last.”

  He went to his old room, which felt familiar and strange at the same time. He’d been a mere boy when he’d been here last. He was a man now—a man who’d seen more of the world than he wished.

  He lay on his bed and propped his hands behind his head in thought. He still felt indignation on Lavinia’s behalf over the comments his father and brothers had made, especially Thomas’s ribald ones. Had she been subjected to such judgments her entire life? Had men always viewed her as easy prey? Had women always assumed she was a wanton and a threat? He dearly hoped not—but he also remembered how thunderstruck he himself had been when he’d seen her without her disguise for the first time. He’d had the good fortune of being introduced to her beauty incrementally, but even seeing her today in her burgundy traveling gown with her radiant hair styled atop her head had stopped him in his tracks.

  Oh, no, he was not immune to her either.

  He also hadn’t missed the fact that Miss Weston and Mr. Drake had referred to themselves as her cousins this afternoon, when Lavinia had told him herself that they were associates of her father. Of course, Lucas had lied about his own relationship with Lavinia, so he wasn’t about to judge.

  It was time he told them he’d figured out that they were actors—Miss Weston and Mr. Drake definitely were, with her dramatic fainting spells and Drake’s spouting Shakespeare and Marlowe every other minute. Miss Broome was decidedly not an actor; she looked as though she would crack into pieces if anyone looked at her for longer than a minute.

  If the older couple were associates of Lavinia’s father, it meant he’d been an actor. And if he’d been an actor . . . it was only logical that Lavinia had become one.

  When he’d called her his betrothed this afternoon—well, that had been a moment to behold. She’d transformed from the Lavinia he’d come to know the past few days into a lady, a true lady of genteel birth and training. A remarkable transformation it had been.

  Oh, yes, she was definitely an actress too.

  He knew well enough that actresses were part of the demimonde. Decent people did not mingle with such individuals. He wondered what his parents—not to mention his vicar of a brother—would think if they were to discover the truth.

  Chapter 12

  Later that afternoon, Lucas found Lavinia and his mother in the sitting room on the south side of the house. It had always been his mother’s favorite room. It was smaller than the drawing room, with furniture upholstered in a flowery fabric, and large windows that let in the afternoon sun. The conversation he’d interrupted had seemed congenial, even if his mother hadn’t seemed quite her normal, effusive self. But at least he didn’t sense any tension in the air, which was a good sign.

  “Mama, with your permission, I believe I will steal my betrothed away from you for a while. I have scarcely seen her since we arrived at Alderwood, and I would like to show her the grounds. Would you care to join me . . . my dear?” In the nick of time, he thought to add an endearment.

  Lavinia smiled at him with such adoration that Lucas’s heart nearly stopped, and he very nearly believed what he saw before he remembered she was most likely an actress and was more than capable of playing the part of his betrothed. She was a very good actress, then, as believable as she’d seemed just now.

  “I would like nothing better,” she said.

  “It’s been lovely getting to know you better, Lavinia,” Mama said. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation later.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” Lucas said.

  He offered Lavinia his hand as she rose to her feet, and they bid his mother adieu. Neither of them spoke as they walked; for his part, Lucas wanted to ensure that there were no eavesdroppers in their vicinity before saying anything.

  They strolled through the house and outside to his mother’s rose garden, and the air was heavy with the pungent fragrance of the summer blooms. He plucked a bud that was just beginning to open and offered it to her.

  “Thank you,” she said, brushing it softly under her nose before tucking it into the bodice of her dress. “I ought to be giving you a piece of my mind, calling me your betrothed—although it doesn’t seem quite fair since it’s precisely what I did to you, isn’t it?”

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” he said. “I had no intention of speaking those words—I hadn’t even thought them—and then they were in my mind and out of my mouth just that quickly. I’m sorry, Lavinia. In the meantime . . .” He reached into his pocket and removed a simple gold ring. “This isn’t much in the way of betrothal rings, but at least it’s not the monstrous thing you’re wearing.”

  Lavinia removed the ruby ring that had been on her finger ever since Lucas had met her. His family would never believe he’d had the means to give her such a ring. Fortunately, it had been hidden under her glove when they’d arrived.

  He slipped the gold band onto her finger, which fit well enough and would do for the time being.. “It’s not much, but it’s mine, and my family will recognize it, at least.”

  “We are going to have to find a way to end this so-called betrothal without any scandal, you know. I’m not sure how this is to be accomplished, but I feel strongly about it. Your mother has been gracious to me this afternoon. I’m quite sure I’m not what she had in mind when she envisioned you with a wife, but she has been kind and accepting nonetheless. I won’t have her being hurt or embarrassed by any of this. And I’m sorry, too, for dragging you into my own troubles. I never intended for you to do more than get me safely out of the public room at the White Horse.”

  “It sounds like we’re even, then.”

  She looked around her and lifted her face to the sky. “Oh, but it is lovely here, Lucas. Alderwood—well, a considerably smaller version of Alderwood—is what I had envisioned Primrose Farm being. I was terribly wrong on that score.”

  “Lavinia.” He paused to choose his words carefully. “I spoke to my father about the work needed at Primrose Farm. He has offered the assistance of his steward, Finch, and my eldest brother. I thought to show them the farm tomorrow. They have the connections and knowledge that I do not, and it will give us the information we need to proceed with the repairs and restoration.”

  “I’m going with you, Lucas. Primrose Farm is mine and my responsibility.”


  “That’s true, of course, Lavinia. However, through no fault of your own, my family considers you my betrothed, and, as such, when we marry Primrose Farm will belong to me.”

  She drew back at his words, as he’d known she would. “But we are not betrothed, Lucas. Primrose Farm is mine, and I must learn what I can if I am going to have any hope of survival, for me and for the others.”

  Her argument was sound, and Lucas felt guilty for creating this predicament for her. But this was something he could do to help her, and he wanted to help her and allow her respite from her troubles. “Lavinia, we intend to go on horseback. It is faster and will allow us to return sooner, which is better for everyone. You have already seen the farm, so there is no need for you to travel uncomfortably to see it all again when you can relax here with the others. And we wouldn’t want to scandalize my father and brother by having my betrothed picking her way through rotting foundations, now, would we?” he joked. “What if I were to promise you that we will wait until we return to discuss our findings so you may be present?”

  “Staying here to keep an eye on Delia and Artie is certainly wise,” she conceded grumpily. “And I don’t want to appear scandalous. My hair is scandalous enough.”

  He grinned. “Not scandalous. Glorious.”

  “Says you. Personally, I have discovered over the years that proper English ladies are born with golden hair, like your Isobel—”

  “She is not my Isobel,” he interjected—rather too sharply.

  “I see,” Lavinia said, and Lucas feared she did. “Golden hair,” she continued, “and fair complexion make up the ideal proper English lady. Those features are unpretentiously lovely.”

  “Your hair reminds me of a time when I was in Spain. We were quartered in a small town, Anthony and I and a few of the officers, and we went to a bullfight. A man called a matador del toro—it means ‘bull slayer’—waves a red cape and encourages the bull to charge at him. I don’t know if it is the red color that draws the bull’s attention, but it definitely held the attention of the crowd. I think your hair must be like that.”

  “It sounds like a dangerous dance that ends in the death of the bull and perhaps even the matador,” Lavinia said. “I’m not sure I like the analogy, Lucas.”

  Thomas’s earlier comments—and even the cautions from his father and Isaac—suddenly sprang to mind. Fearing he’d distressed her, he changed the subject. “I believe I have solved a puzzle, Lavinia. I have concluded that your Miss Weston and Mr. Drake are actors.”

  She paused for the barest moment before continuing. “What makes you think so?” she asked. “And, by the way, you may call them Delia and Artie, you know. Everyone does.”

  “Not Delia. She refers to Mr. Drake as Arthur.”

  “That’s true.” She smiled slightly. “It’s really quite endearing.”

  “He’s besotted with her, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. He always has been, I think. I’m not sure Delia realizes it; although, how she could miss it I can’t begin to imagine. And your presumption is correct. They are retired actors, with long and storied careers. They were associates of my father, who was also an actor.”

  “But not cousins of yours, I’m guessing,” he said with a smile.

  “No, but just as dear.”

  They had crossed the lawns and were nearing a cluster of willows he’d played under as a boy—he and Isaac and Susan. Lavinia drew the fronds of the first willow tree to the side so she could step under the canopy. Lucas followed. “Delia was quite the rage in her day, from what I understand,” Lavinia said. “She’s small in stature but very powerful when she wants to be. She was quite the leading lady and even performed for the king.”

  “Indeed?”

  “I saw her play Titania, queen of the fairies, in A Midsummer Night’s Dream when I was very young. I—well, never mind. She was breathtaking—commanding the stage as a queen would, even a fairy queen. She truly seemed a fairy, and I wanted her to be, and I wanted her to have magic, to actually be able to change men to beasts and back again.” She stopped speaking, and Lucas wondered about a little girl who longed for that particular magical wish. Didn’t little girls wish for handsome princes or jewels and such?

  She continued. “The others have told me about her performances as Desdemona and Ophelia, and apparently she was a very saucy Viola in Twelfth Night.”

  “I’m guessing Artie has similar accolades.”

  She actually grinned then, and Lucas’s heart did a somersault. She’d looked so somber just a moment before. “Artie’s specialty tended to be more comedic, although, personally, I think he always dreamt of being a leading man.”

  “How long have you been an actress, Lavinia?” he asked as though it were the most normal question he could have posed to her.

  She was silent, and Lucas thought she would not answer, but finally, she spoke. “How long have I been an actress? Oh, Lucas, I have acted my entire life.”

  A simple reply, but one that held many layers.

  Lucas intended to peel away those layers to the real Lavinia beneath them.

  * * *

  “You have been asking all the questions,” Lavinia said, running the leafy fronds of the willow tree through her fingers. “It’s my turn now.”

  “Fair enough,” Lucas replied. “You may question me to your heart’s content—after I ask you one more: Have you ever climbed a tree? These willows are some of the best climbing trees to be found. Susan and Isaac will tell you the same. You could frequently find one of us or all of us here when we were young.”

  Lavinia was wearing one of her best day dresses, having changed out of her best traveling gown, so she would feel presentable to the viscount and viscountess. What if she climbed the tree and her dress snagged on a branch and was ruined? Oh, but she’d never had the opportunity as a child to do something as utterly normal as climb a tree. The idea was incredibly tempting . . .

  “The woody branches are low enough even for a child,” Lucas said, apparently sensing her initial hesitation. “There is truly nothing to compare with climbing a tree. Children of all ages need to climb trees. It is where the worlds in their dreams become real.”

  Lavinia gazed longingly at the willow and at Lucas standing next to it, his hand propped against its solid trunk. There were four willow trees here that looked to be the same age and size, each of them with solid, sturdy branches near the trunk, beckoning to be climbed, and long, slender branches covered in feathery leaves that created a green curtain about them that waved softly in the breeze.

  “I’m wearing one of my best dresses,” she said. “If I tear it because I listened to you and ventured up into this tree, I shall consider it your fault and expect you to replace it with something equal or better.”

  He grinned at her, a lopsided one that was part rake and part little boy and altogether too charming for her own good, and extended his hand to her. “Deal. Allow me to assist.”

  Lavinia puffed out an exasperated breath, placed one hand in his and the other on the tree, and set her foot on a large knot in the trunk about three feet from the ground. Then she boosted herself up, with Lucas’s help, setting her other foot in the spot where the trunk split into two sturdy branches. A couple of feet above that spot, the tree split again, and Lavinia decided to climb up to it as well. In for a penny, in for a pound, as the saying went.

  “I’m right behind you,” Lucas said. “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

  Lavinia looked over her shoulder. With Lucas standing on the first split, his head was nearly even with hers. Oh, but he was a lovely man, with thick brown hair and clear hazel eyes, and Lavinia was drawn to him, but her growing attraction for him was alarming to her as well.

  Ever since she’d reached her adolescence, men in every town the troupe had visited had tended to swarm her. At the age of ten it had been terrifying—the catcalls, the lewd gestures she hadn’t understood, the money offered to her. Her father had at least been a marginally protective parent back then,
shooing the riffraff away. “Livvy, my girl,” he’d said to her on more than one occasion. “Your looks are your prized possession and your poison. Have a care.”

  As she’d gotten older, her father’s dubious paternal instincts had dwindled as his need for drink had grown, and his advice had changed. “Livvy, my girl,” he’d say—he’d always addressed her as “Livvy, my girl,” come to think of it—“there’s this toff I know. Good bloke, deep pockets. He’d take care of you, good care, mind, and it wouldn’t do me any harm either. Think about it. Then your old papa wouldn’t have to worry about you.”

  She’d heard variations of it in nearly every town they visited. If she hadn’t had Hannah by her side all those years . . . She shuddered to think where she’d be now.

  But she’d had Hannah, and Hannah had stood up to Lavinia’s father when she was young and had stood by Lavinia when she had gotten older and had been strong enough to stand up to her father herself.

  “Why don’t you sit on this branch before you get so lost in your thoughts you fall out of the tree?” Lucas said to her. “Where were you?”

  She’d been wishing she’d had parents like other children did, like Lucas and his siblings did, thankful she’d at least had Hannah. What would it be like to share part of herself with him?

  Could she trust Lucas enough to tell him about her childhood? Her dreams?

  It was a terrible risk. She could barely breathe, she felt such anxiety.

  “You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to,” he added gently. “If you’d rather simply sit and enjoy your first tree-climbing experience quietly, that is your choice to make.”

  There he was once again, acting honorably. Perhaps she could share part of the truth with him.

  “I was thinking about my father,” she said.

  “Here, sit, and you may tell me about him, but only if you wish.”

  He assisted her as she maneuvered herself into a sitting position on the branch, her back against the trunk. He stood where he was and held on to a branch above their heads. The arrangement put their faces close together, nearly eye to eye.