The Poor Relation

by Bennett, Margaret

  “Adele has told me of your devotion to your aunt,” said Lady Howard, drawing Chloe’s attention once again.

  “My aunt has been very good to me,” answered Chloe with conviction. “When my cousin married, Aunt Sophia opened her heart and her home to me.”

  “Lady Howard,” Leslie Pearson called out as he and Pierre Guyot came up behind them. After a few commonplace pleasantries, Pearson obsequiously offered his arm to the titled lady and led her away.

  “Walk with me, mademoiselle, s’il vous plaît?” said Guyot, taking Chloe’s hand and slipping it through his arm. She was in no position to refuse and so followed him, meandering aimlessly about the gardens.

  “You were out again the other night, oui?” Guyot’s tone was censuring.

  “I often walk Lady Caro, sir.”

  “And you meet others when you take the air?” It was clear that he believed she had been with someone.

  “Do I see other people?” she repeated the question, deliberately mistaking his meaning.

  His grin was without humor as, in a reassuring manner, he patted her hand where it rested on his arm. He leaned his head closer to hers. “You were with the Viscount Camden on that night, mais non?”

  “No, sir, you mistake the matter.” She was becoming angry with his sly insinuations. “It was mere chance that Lord Camden stepped out to smoke a cheroot and we met . . . after I had fallen and hit my head.”

  “Oui, oui,” he said with a knowing smirk before gesturing ahead where Camden stood with Mrs. Palmer. “And is this not the gentleman now?”

  Chloe was not in any mood to be sociable with the Viscount’s paramour and would have preferred avoiding the encounter altogether. But it seemed impossible since Guyot called out to Judith Palmer, who clung to Camden with both hands clutching his sleeve. Feeling a tug, Chloe glanced down at Lady Caro prancing toward Camden, and the irreverent thought of the Viscount on Judith Palmer’s leash came to mind.

  Still, it was easy to understand why men were drawn to the widow. To protect her porcelain complexion, she sported a large leg horn bonnet draped with pink netting tied in a bow under her chin. She appeared so delicate and feminine attired in a rose spencer over a pink and white sprigged muslin gown. For once, Chloe had cause to regret her penchant for the outdoors, which was murderous to her peaches and cream complexion, and by comparison, she felt coarse and dowdy in an olive green day dress with a chip straw hat.

  A beauty Judith Palmer might be, but the widow’s social graces left much to be desired. Unable to dissemble enough to hide her spite, Judith’s honeyed tones rang false when she returned Chloe’s greeting. Camden, however, was much warmer toward Chloe.

  Then in one slick move, Guyot released Chloe and reached for Mrs. Palmer’s hand holding on to Camden’s arm. Slipping it through his own arm, he said as he led her away, “Madame Palmer, you must spare me a few minutes of your time, s’il vous plaît.”

  Judith had little chance to protest, though her voice carried back to Chloe, “Spinsters are such pitiable creatures, do you not agree, Monsieur?”

  Before Chloe could react, Camden, took her elbow, turned her in the opposite direction and began to stroll. “Pay her no mind, Miss Woodforde. For all her looks, the widow can be a very jealous woman.”

  Thinking it preposterous to assume the widow’s rudeness was due to jealously over her, Chloe remained silent. As she strolled with Camden, the little terrier capered about the Viscount’s legs. Shortening the leash to control the Yorky, Chloe admonished, “Do stop, Caro. You are muddying his lordship’s boots.”

  Camden did not seem to notice as he asked, “You seem to enjoy a great deal of Pierre Guyot’s company. Heed me well, Miss Woodforde, for your own safety, stay away from the émigré.”

  She could not stop herself from asking, “Was he the one in the garden that night?”

  “No, he wasn’t,” he growled. “Are you so desperate for a husband that you’d allow a wastrel like him to pay you court?”

  She felt the angry blush color her cheeks and made to pull away, but he reached for her hand and threaded it through the crook of his arm.

  “You insult me, my lord,” Chloe returned with feeling. “I have no interest in him or any other.”

  “Come now, Miss Woodforde, you are no young debutante. And despite our earlier discussion, you will never convince me you’re not setting out lures.”

  “You make me sound like some old hen at her last prayers.” She kept her tone light, fearing he’d detect her interest in him.

  “Hardly, but neither are you a schoolroom miss,” he replied ungraciously while his eyes raked her person from head to toe.

  “I am four and twenty, on the shelf perhaps, but far from being so long in the tooth as to be beyond all hope. Besides which, there is not a gentleman here that strikes me as proper husband material,” she said with feeling.

  He laughed derisively. “Just what is your definition of a matrimonial prize? Remembering that you can’t afford to be too picky, have you considered Pearson? His ancestry is reputed to include two ancient kings?”

  She wrinkled her brow as if in thought. “I think not, for I fear his waistcoats would put most of my gowns to shame.”

  Camden’s low chuckle sent shivers down her spine. “Then might you consider Sir Clarence Reaves, for he is amiable enough?”

  “True, except that his doting mama sits in his pockets,” she answered, drawing another appreciative chuckle from Camden.

  “Perhaps Monsieur Guyot?” Camden continued. “Though his pockets are to let, he is, nonetheless, well received among the ton.”

  She shook her head. “My French is merely passable.”

  “Ah.” He leaned his head towards hers and smiled. “There is myself. I am accorded to being excessively well-heeled.”

  “You flatter yourself, my lord. If you were as rich as Croesus, it would hardly compensate for your hazardous nocturnal occupation of roaming the countryside.”

  With a hard look, one dark eyebrow rose speculatively. “Been spying on me, Miss Woodforde?”

  “I refer to the numerous times we have met when I have been out with Lady Caro, nothing more.”

  “It is coincidental the way I keep bumping into you. Tell me, am I the lucky swell you’ve set your cap for?”

  “You are too absurd, my lord. Surely you have not taken into account the opportunity I let slip through my fingers the night you found me unconscious.”

  “True, and there have been other times as well, and still you’ve made no move to leg shackle me. But maybe you’re smart enough to recognize me for the cad that I am. I would not marry you, or any woman for that matter, just because we’d been caught in an indiscrete situation.” His dark gaze never left her face.

  “I know,” Chloe replied to his callous confession. She lowered her lashes, least he see the pain his words had inflicted on her heart. After an uncomfortable moment with his eyes still fixed on her, she excused herself. “Lady Milbanke should be up by now.” She scooped up Lady Caro in her arms and immediately regretted her impulsive action. Surely she looked a fool with the little dog’s muddy paw prints covering her gown.

  She hurried back to the house, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder to see if he watched her. There really was no point. Hadn’t he just confirmed everything Judith Palmer had told her that day in town?

  *** Chapter 9 ***

  The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Chloe entertained her aunt, listening to the baroness’s tongue wag on about her aging cronies and helping her to tally her winnings playing whist with Lady Reaves, Sir Morley and Leslie Pearson. Chloe couldn’t believe the killing Lady Sophia made at the card tables over the past two days. Dawdling over their toilettes, she and Lady Sophia still presented themselves in the drawing room well before time. But it seemed everyone else was equally bored with the forced confinement and inactivity and consequently were already gathered for dinner.

  On the surface everything appeared normal, yet Chloe
sensed something strange going on, an undercurrent that existed among certain guests. By now, she’d had her full of the whole lot of them. Guyot kept casting sly looks her way as though he expected to catch her out, doing what she did not know. Before dinner, he’d drawn her aside and once again interrogated her on the Viscount’s background of which, of course, she could relate nothing.

  “Really, Monsieur Guyot,” she finally blurted out irritably, “why are you forever questioning me?”

  His penetrating brown eyes bore into hers. “Your belle tête, er, beautiful head, must know that not everyone is as he appears, oui?”

  ”That may be, but I have nothing to hide from anyone.”

  “Then for misunderstanding’s sake, mademoiselle, you should perhaps be for careful of the company you keep.” He dropped his voice to a near whisper. “It would be a pity if any harm were to come to you.”

  “You cannot be serious?” she retorted. “There is no reason for anyone here to hurt me.” But the memory of that frightful moment in the woods surfaced when someone had clobbered her from behind, and she wondered just what this obnoxious man knew of it.

  “Au contraire, these are not silly games we are about, but one that will be played to the death.”

  He lowered his eyes, but Chloe had seen the malevolence in them. A chill as cold as his words ran through her. “Whose death?” She was surprised by her own boldness.

  Guyot must have realized that he’d said too much, for he quickly turned away and walked over to where Lady Sarah stood with her mother and Sir Clarence. Chloe pondered telling the Viscount about the Frenchman’s threat, then reconsidered. More likely, he would think she was being fanciful. Besides, she doubted Napoleon’s army could form a wedge between Camden and Mrs. Palmer. The beautiful widow clutched Camden’s sleeve tightly enough to ensure he couldn’t move six inches without dragging her with him.

  To further agitate her, when they entered the dining room, Leslie Pearson manipulated the seating arrangements so that she was placed next to him. It didn’t take long for Chloe to divine his purpose.

  “Your aunt is an unusual woman,” he began, once the asparagus soup was served.

  Chloe innocently took the gambit. “In what way, sir?”

  “She has the most exceptional luck at cards, does she not?”

  The tinkling laughter that escaped her was unforgivable, but she could not help it. She realized that the dandy’s purse was one of the unfortunate ones made lighter by her Captain Shark of a great aunt over the past few days.

  “I do beg your pardon, sir,” she apologized for her rudeness. “But you have the right of it. Lady Milbanke has an uncanny knack with the pasteboards.”

  “Rather strange, too, considering her age and how much the old, er, her ladyship likes her drink,” he said with a sneering smile.

  “You mistake the matter, sir.” Chloe bristled over the none-too-subtle charge that her aunt was guilty of cheating. “If you were more observant, you would see that Lady Milbanke only games for paltry sums, yet pays prodigious attention to every card played. It is hardly luck, Mr. Pearson. Skill is what accounts for her winning.”

  “I never meant to imply otherwise,” answered Pearson, taken aback by Chloe’s vehement defense of the old baroness. “Your aunt didn’t fleece me, at any rate.”

  Far too upset to accept this half-hearted apology, Chloe turned her back on the dandy and addressed Sir Albert, who had overheard a good bit of their conversation.

  “You’ve had a difficult time of it today, my dear. After dinner, if you like, why don’t you retire. I’ll keep a vigilant eye on that rambunctious aunt of yours.” With a mischievous twinkle behind his wire rimmed spectacles, he said, “Maybe between the two of us, we can finish picking the gentleman’s pockets clean tonight.” To this sally, Chloe joined the elderly gentleman in a merry chuckle.

  So an hour later Chloe found herself at loose ends, standing in the middle of her beautiful bedchamber. It was far too early to prepare for bed. The headache she’d pleaded after dinner when the ladies had adjourned to the drawing room would surely have developed into a reality if she’d been forced to watch Judith Palmer hang all over the Viscount for the rest of the evening. Why that bothered her so, Chloe preferred not to probe for an answer. Nor did she want to be subjected to that spiteful cat’s malevolent glances half the night any more than she wanted to stay cooped up in her room. Looking out the window and ascertaining that the rain hadn’t returned, Chloe threw a woolen shawl over her shoulders to ward off the dampness and went to fetch Lady Caro.

  The sky was beginning to clear, allowing the moon to peek out from behind the scudding clouds, and with the house all aglow, there was plenty of light to see her way around the gardens. Deciding to take a different route, she rounded the corner of the mansion, emerging on the west side of the grounds. Here the landscaping conformed to the natural terrain, which was more heavily treed. There were fewer paths winding among the oaks, beeches and elms. Relishing in the natural beauty of the lush shrubs and colorful clusters of wild flowers, Chloe started along one such path. A freshly scented breeze tugged at her shawl and played with the loose curls framing her face, but she hardly noticed. As the canopy of leaves rustled overhead, she became preoccupied with her troubled thoughts.

  By his very reputation, Chloe knew better than to expect the Viscount to develop a tendre for her. Undoubtedly, there was some truth to Judith Palmer’s claim that an argument existed between Camden and the widow. Why else would he allow the woman to fawn all over him unless Mrs. Palmer was his paramour, a notion that made her inwardly wince. She was worldly enough to know that men kept mistresses, some even after they were married.

  Why did she have to fall for this one particular man? Because that’s what had happened--she had fallen in love. Did he even care for her a little? Oh, if only she were able to control the yearnings of her heart, she mused. She’d known other men who were far more handsome than the Viscount, but his large muscular physique attracted her like no other. No, there was something about the man himself that she found irresistible.

  Coming upon a particularly dark area under a stand of oaks on the other side of a large hedge, she heard male voices, low pitched almost to a whisper. She thought about turning back, but upon following the path around the tall yew, she encountered the large looming figure of the Viscount. Standing beside him was a smaller man, dressed in dark clothes, who raised a hand to pull on his knit cap, bringing it down lower, further obscuring his facial features.

  “Good evening, Miss Woodforde.” Camden sounded none too pleased at seeing her.

  “Good evening, my lord,” she replied, tugging on the Yorkshire’s leash to stop the traitorous canine from joyously jumping up on the nobleman and, consequently, ruining his immaculate black trousers with muddy paw prints. “Come, Lady Caro,” she commanded and practically dragged the irritating little beast away.

  “One moment if you please, Miss Woodforde,” Camden called out, then turned to exchange a few words meant for the other man’s ears alone. As the Viscount came toward her, she watched his friend step back and melt into the shadows. Fascinated by the man’s disappearing act before her very eyes, she would have waited to listen for movement or a sound, but Camden took her elbow, turned her about, and began walking her back to the house.

  Breaking an uncomfortable silence that had settled between them, he said, “I understood you were unwell and had retired for the night.”

  “Only a sight headache for which the cool night air has done wonders,” she replied with a dismissive reflection in her voice meant to discourage any more intercourse. And really, there was little else she had to say to such a rogue, albeit a very disarming and appealing one at that. Besides, her feelings still smarted after his confirmation of Judith Palmer’s warning.

  They soon reached the salon doors, and he held one open for her.

  “If you will excuse me,” she said. As she brushed past him, he reached out for her arm and brought her up short
.

  “One moment, please, Miss Woodforde. There is no need to mention to anyone that you have seen me tonight.”

  This brought to mind the conversation Chloe had with Pierre Guyot before dinner. However, she hesitated to inform him of the Frenchman’s interest in his background, perhaps out of pique because of Judith Palmer’s disclosures and his own admission of rakish habits.

  Then too, while his face was an impassive mask, there was no mistaking the warning that flashed in his dark eyes. She was not afraid of him but was well aware that he could be dangerous. She met his steely gaze with a reassuring smile.

  “I will not, my lord.” She smiled ruefully. “For I fear my hostess would be offended were she to hear I preferred the solitude of her gardens with Lady Caro over her company.” She paused before adding, “Although, I do wonder how you would react if I chose to be uncooperative?”

  A spark of anger ignited the depths of his dark eyes, but she didn’t wait for an answer. Pulling free of his hold, she quickly entered the salon with Lady Caro racing to keep up with her. She did not slow her pace until she reached the baroness’s room. She was shaking all over, aware that somehow she had struck a dangerous cord in him. Almost as though he felt threatened, vulnerable even. But such an idea was absurd. How could someone like her possibly pose a threat to such a man?

  Entering her aunt’s room, she found Lady Sophia propped up in bed, closely watching Hannah move about the chamber, putting away toiletry. Chloe handed the little dog over to the abigail after brushing dirt from its tiny paws.

  “Where have you been, child?” asked the baroness, a worried crease between her brows.

  “I took Lady Caro out, Aunt Sophia,” replied Chloe, sitting on the edge of the bed, surprised at how lucid her aunt appeared. “Did you and Sir Albert play with Mr. Pearson tonight?”

  “We did,” the baroness replied with a wicked grin. “Cleaned the dandy out, too.”

  “Aunt Sophia,” chided Chloe, even as she joined her aunt in a hearty laugh over the easy victory. Giving the baroness an affectionate hug and a peck on her cheek, Chloe said, “Promise me you will not play with him again, Aunt Sophia? I do not care for him.”