Laura Matthews

by A Very Proper Widow

  Really, she has no conception of modesty, Alvescot mused in amazement as Louisa took him literally at his word. Without closing the door behind her she allowed the blanket to drop at her feet before picking it up and handing it to him. “I’d be very grateful if you could convince William to marry me,” she said, once again standing there without a rag on her body. “He needs someone to look after him, you know.”

  He isn’t the only one, Alvescot mentally amended as he took his leave. Before he had gotten many feet up the corridor he considered going back to warn her not to mention the episode to anyone, but thought better of the idea. Even Louisa wasn’t likely to be that naive, and she would probably only open the door again to him in all her pale nakedness. Dear God, talk about your child of nature!

  Disgruntled, Alvescot managed to reach his room without further mishap, but it was some time before he was able to fall asleep. Incredible as it may seem, the question his mind continued to debate for some time was whether a woman of such naiveté would ultimately make a better lover than a woman with a highly developed sense of social and religious values.

  On the one hand, there was that total natural response in Louisa (look at her astonishing performance on the pianoforte!) while on the other there was the restrained self-confidence of Vanessa Damery. Though Alvescot reproached himself for thinking of his hostess in such a light, he found himself altogether incapable, at that particular moment, of doing otherwise. He told himself, repeatedly, that it was an academic question, having nothing personal to do with either of the women. And since his own experience had been only with assorted mistresses, whose profession it was to please a man, it was a subject which suddenly fascinated him—from a theoretical point of view. And a thoroughly more interesting study than that of the estate books which awaited him in the morning.

  * * * *

  The next day he rose later than usual and found himself alone in the Breakfast Parlor, much to his relief, actually. He had an opportunity to eat a leisurely meal before he set himself down to the accounts. And when, an hour before luncheon, he felt he had enough questions to justify an interview with his hostess, he sought her direction from one of the footmen.

  “She’s in the Morning Room, milord,” he was informed.

  “Then I shall join her there,” Alvescot remarked, remembering that he hadn’t as yet set foot in that particular room since his arrival.

  The footman’s face grew concerned. “Begging your pardon, milord, but no one is allowed to join Mrs. Damery there without her specific permission, and she only gives that to the children. But I can take a message to her and have her join you in the Saloon or the Mirror Room.”

  For some reason this annoyed Alvescot. Certainly it was sensible of her to have some place where she could not be interrupted by her bothersome guests, but he didn’t like the idea of being excluded himself. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that she would make an exception for him, and to simply barge in on her. His good breeding was not what stopped him; it was the thought of her reaction. He had no difficulty envisioning her look of surprise and annoyance, her carefully controlled voice saying, “Did you wish to see me, Lord Alvescot? If you will wait in the Saloon I will join you shortly.” And what could he do but obey her? Alvescot hadn’t the least desire to make a fool of himself again.

  “Never mind,” he told the footman. “I’ll speak with her at luncheon.”

  Disappointed, he wandered out onto the East Terrace, slowly walking to the southernmost end of it, where two windows from the Morning Room overlooked the flagstoned surface and the shrubbery beyond. The green velvet curtains were partially drawn against the morning sun and except for the broad bands of light which pierced the room, it wasn’t possible for him to see into its depths without coming a great deal closer than a casual stroller was likely to do. He stood for some time at the stone railing near one of the windows, hoping to hear some murmur from the room. It was not from within that voices reached him, however, but from the shrubbery to his left.

  “Come now, my sweet lady,” Edward’s voice said persuasively. “How am I to prove that I can care for an animal if you won’t let me ride one?”

  Vanessa answered after a short pause. “Edward, you’ve wrecked the curricle and damaged the captain’s horse all within the space of a few days. I cannot, with a clear conscience, allow you to mistreat my animals any further. If you wish to prove your good intentions, go and help them in the stables. Put poultices on the captain’s horse; groom some of the animals; help with the feeding. Do anything, but don’t expect me to believe in your change of heart. How many times have you promised me you wouldn’t race the horses, or drive them beyond endurance? I have only to be out of sight for you to forget your glib words, and you don’t seem to understand that I don’t have to see you mistreating them to know on your return that you’ve done it.”

  “For God’s sake, Vanessa, horses like to run! I’ve never had one drop dead under me.”

  Alvescot could hear her sigh. “In time you will,” she retorted. “And I don’t want it to be one of mine.”

  “You know I can’t afford one of my own.”

  “If you stopped spending all your time and money in Basingstoke, you could save up for one, Edward.”

  There was a distinct change in his tone when he spoke. Alvescot had moved from the end of the terrace to a spot closer to the shrubbery, but he couldn’t see the two of them, owing to a bend in the walk. Still, he felt sure exactly what sort of expression Edward wore and it made him grit his teeth.

  “My lovely Vanessa, I wouldn’t spend so much time in Basingstoke if you would give me the least sign of encouragement.” His voice was soft, insinuating. “You know I want to spend every minute, every minute, of the day and night with you, but, alas, you offer no hope. Do I detect the tiniest evidence of jealousy in your annoyance with the time I spend in Basingstoke? You have but to say the word, my angel, and I will never set foot in the stupid town again.”

  “Go there as often as you like, Edward,” she returned, “but not on my horses.”

  Her voice had abruptly become louder, and Alvescot decided this was not caused by her raising it, but because she had turned toward the house. He quickly retraced his footsteps to the door of the Saloon, hesitating for a moment to hear if Edward replied. All he heard was the slight whisper of shoes on the gravel walk before Vanessa came in sight, swiftly negotiating the stairs to the terrace with her long skirts held up to avoid tripping on them. He noted that she had remarkably well-turned ankles.

  At sight of him she dropped her skirts and attempted a noncommittal smile. “Good morning, Lord Alvescot. Were you about to take a stroll?”

  “Actually, I was hoping to find you, Mrs. Damery. There are a few questions I'd like to ask about the estate books.”

  Vanessa glanced up at the sky, as though the answer were written there. Apparently it was, for she said, “It’s a little close to luncheon to have some uninterrupted time. Would afterward be as convenient?”

  “I’m at your disposal, ma’am. Don’t you go to your children then?”

  “Usually, but I can delay that.”

  “Please don’t. Perhaps we could meet at three in the Library.”

  Vanessa nodded her agreement and waited while he opened and held the door for her. Alvescot would have liked to tag along but decided there was no point to it. “I think I’ll just walk for a while before luncheon,” he said.

  When she disappeared into the house, obviously finding his statement of purpose of little or no interest, he strode over to the stairs and down into the shrubbery. He surprised Edward scowling at a statue of a nymph.

  “Moronic-looking thing, ain’t it?” he demanded of Alvescot.

  The earl had never taken a close look at the statue and gave it only a cursory glance now. “I suppose it is,” he agreed, indifferent.

  “Don’t know why anyone wants such rubbish in their gardens,” Edward complained. “If this were my place, I’d chuck it all.”


  “But it’s not your place,” Alvescot reminded him.

  Edward gave him a measuring look and appeared satisfied that no scurrilous meaning could attach to the words. “I say, I wonder if you’d let me have one of your horses to ride into town this afternoon. There’s rather an urgent matter I have to take care of and without the curricle . . .”

  If he thought to play on Alvescot’s sympathies, or even some latent guilt for the curricle accident, he was far off the mark. A smarter man would have noticed the way the earl’s jaw clenched, the way his eyes narrowed, but Edward was only listening, half hopeful, and what the earl said was, “You may take Satin, if you think you can do so without damaging him. However, I should warn you that he’s a little difficult to manage and any rough treatment will earn you my absolute enmity, which is nothing to take lightly, Mr. Curtiss. Handle him properly and he’ll behave; handle him poorly and you’ll be lucky to make it back to Cutsdean.”

  With a flush of anger, Edward turned away. But he was not one to take offense where it would inconvenience him. “I’m sure I can handle your horse, Lord Alvescot.”

  “I hope so,” the earl replied grimly.

  Chapter Nine

  Since Edward’s absence provided the opportunity Alvescot needed to search his room, the earl waited only until he saw Edward ride off on Satin before setting to work. He had previously ascertained that the young man had a bedchamber in the South Wing, something called the Tapestry Bedchamber, which Alvescot did not recall from his youth. Possibly he had simply never heard of it; possibly it had been renamed; possibly one of the two Mrs. Damerys had outfitted it since his last visit to Cutsdean. In any case, he was uninterested in its origins, only in its contents.

  Edward shared a valet with Captain Lawrence (and Mr. Oldcastle, when he was in residence), and Alvescot wanted to explore Edward’s room while the valet would be at his meal with the other servants. The maids, too, would be finished with the bedchambers and at luncheon if he proceeded there directly after the family ate, so he ruthlessly detached himself from Mabel Curtiss and her daughter, mumbling something about correspondence he simply must take care of, and went directly to the first floor.

  There was no one in the corridor as he approached the Tapestry Bedchamber. Without the least hesitation he walked up to the door, opened it, and let himself in. It was an enormous room, probably a combination of two smaller ones, as the Library below obviously was. Though not originally the master suite, it had for some years served that purpose with its sitting room comfortably furnished with a desk, bookshelves, and several winged chairs, and the bedchamber beyond appointed with every conceivable amenity. Why the devil did she put him here? Alvescot wondered, frowning at the needlework hangings on the four-poster bed. Beyond doubt it was the most prized bedroom of the lot, excluding Vanessa’s own suite, which had been Hortense’s. Momentarily, Alvescot considered the order in which the various relations had descended on Mrs. Damery and been assigned to their bedrooms. Deciding that didn’t explain anything, Alvescot shrugged off the unimportant matter and looked about himself.

  There was no way to tell what he was looking for, or if there was anything in the room itself which would give him a clue. It seemed reasonable that Edward had learned some unsavory secret in the captain’s past which he was using to extort money, but it wasn’t necessarily anything which would leave a tangible trace in Edward’s room. Nonetheless, Alvescot was determined to have a thorough look about him. Captain Lawrence might not be the only victim. It was possible Vanessa tolerated Edward’s presence because of some sort of pressure on her, a thought that left Alvescot feeling an icy anger. He didn’t really believe it, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

  The bedroom itself was devoid of everything except Edward’s personal toilet articles, clothing, and some old editions of the Turf Remembrancer. Alvescot felt some distaste in going through the drawers and looking in every conceivable hiding place, but then he felt some distaste at the idea of Edward’s nefarious activities as well. When he had finished with the bedroom, he started to work on the sitting room, running an eye over the books on the shelves and through the contents of the desk, which were minimal. Edward apparently undertook little correspondence. The letters he had received Alvescot did not peruse, since they would not likely have any bearing on Captain Lawrence. But when he had finished with the desk there was no place else to search. He stood for some time absently staring at the bookshelves, not really seeing them, while his mind tackled the problem of where to go next for some solution to the problem.

  As in each of the guest chambers, there was a selection of reading material on the bookshelves. Alvescot doubted that Edward had ever touched any of the volumes, though they were well dusted and neatly organized on the shelves. It was the usual collection—some volumes of sermons and other uplifting reading, some historical works and biographies, a few light novels by Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Maria Edgeworth, poetry of Pope and Byron. Alvescot couldn’t see titles on all of them but he doubted there was anything here he wished to read. No, it was something about the symmetry, or the lack of it, in one particular row which drew his cursory attention.

  One book appeared overly plump, wider at the back than the front, so it left a small gap between it and the books on either side. Alvescot absently reached out to tighten the arrangement but, finding this didn’t work, took out the book to see wherein lay the problem. As he lifted the book from the shelf something slid to the floor, leaving him with only the binding in one hand. Glancing down, he was surprised to find that an entire volume lay there, and not just the interior pages. Curious now, be picked it up and turned to the flyleaf, which announced it to be the diary of Captain Charles Lawrence for the years 1802 to 1808. Most decidedly what he was looking for, else why would it be in Edward’s room?

  A fair amount of time had passed by now and he heard some movement in the hall, but he was intent on restoring things to an order that wouldn’t attract Edward’s attention. The empty binding which he held in one hand turned out to be for Ned Ward’s The Whole Pleasure of Matrimony. Trust Edward to destroy that for his hiding place, Alvescot thought, and not to do it well enough to escape detection.

  Choosing a smaller volume on herbals, Alvescot inserted it in the empty binding and carefully replaced it on the shelf. He slid the captain’s diary under his coat, holding it tight to his side with one arm as he opened the door silently and checked the hallway. At the far end a maid was polishing a sconce, but she had her back to him and he slipped from the room, closing the door soundlessly, and headed in the opposite direction. When he turned the corner into the West Wing, he glanced back at the maid, who gave no sign of having noticed him.

  In his room he set the diary on the bedside commode-table and rang for his valet. Bibury appeared in a matter of minutes, a faint question in his eyes.

  “I hope I didn’t interrupt your meal, Bibury. If possible, I’d like to have a word in private with Captain Lawrence. Do you think you could find him and bring him here? It’s not a matter I’d like to discuss in any of the public rooms.”

  The valet nodded. “Yes, milord. I saw him on the terrace only a few minutes ago.”

  “Don’t approach him if he’s with anyone, Bibury. If I can’t see him now, I’ll see him later.”

  While the valet was gone, Alvescot paced about his small room trying to decide exactly how to handle his knowledge and some resolution of it. He did no more than glance at the diary sitting on the commode, though his curiosity was roused. Just what was in it that gave Edward such power over the old man? Alvescot wasn’t fond of Captain Lawrence: he was opinionated, uncivil, self-righteous, and overbearing. But the earl liked Edward even less, and he hated the kind of extortion by intimidation that the younger man was using. There was something naturally repulsive about it which Alvescot wouldn’t tolerate, no matter what Captain Lawrence’s failings or the possibly petty amounts of money involved.

  There was a soft rap at his door and Bibury entered to ann
ounce Captain Lawrence, who stalked into the room muttering, “What is so important that I must see you in your bedchamber, Lord Alvescot? Surely if you wished to speak with me you could have sought me out yourself?”

  The earl waved Bibury off with a nod of thanks and only spoke when the door had closed behind him. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you a seat, captain. As you see, my room has only the one chair and I have reason to doubt its sturdiness. As for why I invited you here, I thought we needed the utmost privacy for our discussion, which concerns Mr. Curtiss’s blackmailing of you.”

  A flush of color rose to the captain’s sallow cheeks. “Has the little rat made you privy to his allegations, sir? I would have thought you above such slimy dealings.”

  Alvescot successfully concealed his annoyance. “On my first evening here I overheard the two of you in the spinney, where he extorted most of your quarter’s allowance, I gather. I have no idea on what basis this blackmail is based, but I want it stopped. Mrs. Damery has enough on her hands without such goings on at Cutsdean.” Turning away from him, the earl walked to the window where he said, “I searched Mr. Curtiss’s room a few minutes ago and discovered one of your diaries hidden inside another book. It’s there on the commode-table and I hope you will take it with you and make some effort to conceal it from him should he try to recover it. I haven’t looked at it, but I presume it contains damaging material.”

  Captain Lawrence drew himself up to his full height and said harshly, “Only a snake such as Curtiss would find it damaging. He threatened to read it out to the company one evening if I didn’t hand over any money I had. And having the diary back won’t prevent him from making a to-do about it. He doesn’t have to read it to make those silly women believe him.” Nevertheless, the captain picked up the diary and rammed it into the pocket of his coat, glaring at the earl as he straightened. “Your retrieving the diary won’t do the least good.”