Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  “Surely there is a tale of abuse at your sister’s hand.”

  He heard the smile in Angel’s voice.

  “Very well.” He risked a quick glance at her full mouth and felt a tug of his manhood. “Etta and I were a few days short of our twelfth birthday and Harry but three when Harrison decided Etta should have the same dark hair as he and I. Lord Harry’s hair has lightened some since that time, but when he made it his business to ‘assist’ his sister, we were both molded in the duke’s image. The duchess planned a family portrait to celebrate our birthday.” He paused to recapture a strand of white blonde locks slipping from his grasp.

  “The portrait in the gallery where Lord Harrison is perched upon the duke’s knee?” she asked with curiosity.

  Hunt smiled. The idea she had examined his family’s portrait pleased him. He wondered if a competent artist could capture her beauty upon canvas. “The very one,” he affirmed. “Harry refused to sit for the artist and the man had to draw my brother’s likeness from earlier renderings, which is why he appears younger than he was at the time. Anyway, one day while Etta napped upon a chaise in the blue drawing room, Harrison slipped in the room with one of father’s ink wells.”

  “Oh, no!” Angelica squealed. “He did not!”

  Hunt’s smile widened. “Oh, yes. My brother dumped the ink over Henrietta’s head.” He paused for dramatic effect. “And down her neck and across her cheek.”

  Miss Lovelace’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “I fear every time I look upon Lady Stoke, I will have the image firmly planted in my mind,” she said in bemusement.

  “Poor Etta. She was furious, but she did not want father to punish Harrison, who immediately broke into tears. Therefore, I assisted Etta to her quarters, and the two of us washed her hair and skin a dozen times, but it was too late. The ink stains were obvious on both. Mother, meanwhile, learned of the disaster and came to investigate. The duchess convinced Henrietta one black strand would be very becoming in my sister’s hair, and then the duchess taught me to twist Henrietta’s hair into a plait, one which would prominently display the stained strands, an occupation I kept over the following fortnight. The ink had, by then, lost the battle against soap and water.”

  “And Lord Harrison?” she asked with mischief.

  “Could not sit down for several days.” He chuckled. “Would you tie the ribbon, Deann?”

  “Yes, my lord.” The maid secured the end of the plait and then wrapped it in a stylish knot.

  When it was pinned, Miss Lovelace stood. “Thank you, my lord. I feel quite fashionable.”

  Hunt resisted the urge to tell her she would be beautiful in ashes and a sackcloth. “Then we should go, Miss Lovelace.” He offered her his arm.

  The lady slid her hand about his elbow, and they exited her quarters. However, he knew from the pressure of her fingers upon his arm she had something else to say.

  “Speak your thoughts, lass,” he whispered as they descended the stairs.

  She paused upon the steps. “I was just wondering if the tale of Lady Stoke’s hair disaster was a memory borrowed from your family.”

  Hunt had not considered the possibility. He simply enjoyed their natural closeness. “It is my memory,” he said in pleased disbelief. “As well as one previously of the duchess tending Harry when my brother developed measles.”

  “Excellent!” Angelica’s genuine joy claimed his heart. “Soon, you will no longer think only of those life experiences your family shared.”

  Hunt did not wish to tell Angelica, it was her influence, which had permitted him to relax enough for the memory to return. If it were a different time and place, he would confess how she would always be his most cherished memory. “If you will permit it, I wish to speak of this again when more pressing matters are not before us. For now, we must address Sir Alexander’s questions.”

  * * *

  The room felt small and without enough air. Hunt’s breathing turned shallow. Lady Mathild had created a web of intrigue, one that was slow to reveal itself. His father invited Lady Sandahl to witness the girl’s questioning, thinking the countess might bring her daughter comfort. However, Lady Mathild looked upon her mother with indignation.

  “And so you paid one of the marquess’s servants to remove the banyan from his quarters?” Sir Alexander asked.

  The baronet sat across a small table from the girl, taking notes as she spoke, while the remainder of their party looked on in silence.

  Lady Mathild’s posture indicated her contempt for all involved in the session. “I said as much, did I not?” She rolled her eyes heavenward as if they were all incompetent. “The maid hoped to earn his lordship’s attentions, but the marquess had his sights set elsewhere. I pretended to commiserate to convince the girl to act upon my behalf, but it was the maid’s idea to overturn several items in the marquess’s study to make it appear as if someone had broken in.”

  She shot a deathly glance in Hunt’s direction, and he wished he could understand why the lady despised him so violently. He held no desire for a joining with the woman, but he wished her no ill will. Did Lady Mathild hold a tendre for him?

  “Manipulating Lord Malvern took little skill. For a man with a reputation for intelligence, the marquess never once viewed me as his enemy.” She turned her vile upon him. “Do you recall how I warned you of Lord Newsome’s posturing? We danced at Lady Mayleigh’s ball, and I mentioned the look of condescension Lord Newsome sent in your direction. I even added a supposed conversation I overheard of the viscount’s complaints of your holding his debts. Newsome’s gaming losses were common knowledge among the beau monde.”

  Hunt possessed no memory of the events, but he assumed by the expression upon Sir Alexander’s face the lady spoke some form of the truth.

  “As you say, my lady,” he murmured.

  “It is quite humbling to be known as a fool is it not, my lord?” she snarled.

  Before Hunt could respond, the baronet recaptured the conversation. “Did you also pay someone to make attempts upon the marquess’s life?”

  She sat staring out the window while the rain continued to trickle down the pane. For a long moment, Lady Mathild withheld her response. At length, she shrugged her indifference. “In truth, those attacks were Sandahl’s idea. The earl thought the chaos would drive Malvern from London. Lord Sandahl did not approve of the marquess’s attentions to Miss Dandridge, thinking Malvern would avoid marriage as long as his mistress kept him satisfied. Sandahl thought it would be easier for me to overcome Lord Malvern’s aversion to marriage if we could spend more private time together.”

  The mention of his former mistress brought Hunt’s gaze to Angelica’s countenance. She sat with her eyes upon where her fingers sought her father’s touch. She evidently knew of Alexandra Dandridge’s reported beauty and of his relationship with the woman. He wished he could protect her from that knowledge. Hunt would give anything if he could return her to those happy shared moments of only a few minutes earlier.

  He wondered if the others present felt as he did. Something in the room’s atmosphere spoke of doom. What had occurred in the previous two months was not a fit of simple jealousy, but rather something more sinister. He held the distinct feeling they would all be ripped raw. Even his father’s expression indicated the duke’s anguish.

  “Little did Sandahl understand that a fair countenance is not the only reason men marry,” she said with a pointed look at her mother.

  Hunt could not keep the question from his lips. Although he had no specific memory of the attempts upon his life, he recalled being informed by Chandler, Remmington, and even Etch of references to the viscount. “We thought Newsome the culprit because the man we caught earlier said he took orders from a viscount. What say you to that?”

  Lady Mathild shrugged off his attempt at strategy. “Another fine example of your gullibility, my lord.” The effect of the lady’s tone was a dash of cold water in Hunt’s face. It cleared his thinking. “Lord Sandahl
was an earl only a few short years. When Cadon Lovelace inherited the earldom, my father pursued the title of Lord Moses. In time, Uncle Cadon succumbed to his brother’s pleas and petitioned for a grant of precedency so Carpenter might know the title of ‘Viscount Moses.’ Father, after all, was the heir presumptive, and a royal warrant was eventually conferred in the case. Yet, the right to the courtesy title did not satisfy my father. Carpenter Lovelace coveted everything belonging to his elder brother. Others readily accepted Father as the Lord Moses, but they were less enthusiastic to have him know the title outright. To make matters worse, after Uncle Cadon’s accident, some seven years passed before the House of Lords presented both titles to Sandahl. Despite his success, Sandahl’s pride knew damage.” She turned to Devilfoard. “It is my understanding, Duke, you opposed the bestowing of the title upon another.”

  “My position on the matter is of no consequence,” the duke declared through tight lips. “The Lords do not take the passing of titles lightly. They cannot be returned if the once-thought-deceased reappears, and as no one recovered Cadon Lovelace’s body, the possibility of his return remains. If your uncle reappeared while Sandahl was alive, Sandahl would keep the title, but all moneys and land would revert to Cadon Lovelace. Such legalities are never pleasant.”

  “Yet, it was of consequence, Your Grace,” she argued. “Sandahl made it his business to become part of your family. My father desired your approval, and I was the surrendered lamb.”

  Hunt noted the twitch of a muscle along his father’s jaw line, but there was no other outward acknowledgment of the woman’s challenge.

  Sir Alexander asked, “Is Lord Sandahl’s insistence upon your becoming the marquess’s wife the reason you killed the earl? Your companions placed the blame for Sandahl’s death purely upon your shoulders, my lady.”

  She appeared offended. “I killed him because he insisted upon prostituting me in order to prove himself worthy of his brother’s title and because he was not my father.”

  Both the duchess and the Countess of Sandahl gasped at the girl’s bald statement. “Mathild!” the countess pleaded. “Say it is not so!”

  Lady Mathild turned a cold shoulder upon her mother. “You think I have not heard the rumors, Countess? Even the earl’s servants speak of how you climbed into Sandahl’s bed in order to win yourself a husband and a title. No one ever believed the lie of my early delivery.”

  Hunt’s sympathy went out to the countess. Devastation took up residence upon the woman’s features. Marianne Lovelace’s world had quickly come to a screeching halt.

  “What makes you believe Carpenter was not your father?” she asked weakly.

  “I am not a fool, Mother!” Mathild turned her vehemence upon the countess. “Why does neither of my parents have hair the color of dark walnut, Countess? Why have there been no other children? It cannot be you! You proved yourself fertile. If Lord Sandahl could not sire another child in over eighteen years, then how could he have sired me? There were no still births or miscarriages! My God, Mother, even Sandahl’s long-time mistress bore him no children. Do not lie. You have come to the same conclusion. I heard the doubt in your voice and observed it in your manner. When Sandahl considered the possibility of Mr. Lovelace’s return to England after Lady Victoria’s death, he attempted again to bring you to child, but you knew before he claimed you as his wife the effort would be futile.

  “Why do you think he meant to be rid of you?” Lady Mathild charged. “Even though women in their thirties often conceive, in his conceit, Sandahl thought the fault rested with you. With your demise, he could claim a younger bride, but his doing so would not prevent Mr. Lovelace or Lovelace’s son from knowing the title. It is the reason I agreed to Sandahl’s scheme to make me Malvern’s marchioness. If Lovelace rose to the title, you and I would have nothing.”

  “We would have welcomed you into our home with or without a title,” Angelica protested.

  Lady Mathild wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Do not speak of your family’s benevolence. Benevolence would mean you had remained in America.”

  “Lovelace’s presence in America would not have kept him from having the title thrust upon him,” Remmington countered. “Lovelace never aspired to the earldom. Do not transfer Sandahl’s ambitions to others!”

  “I forgot your besotted state, Lord Remmington!” Lady Mathild said harshly, but it was Hunt who felt the impact of her barb. He could not forget his best friend’s heart when it came to Hunt’s desire to claim Miss Lovelace.

  “Who do you believe to be your father?” the countess asked through trembling lips.

  “Who else? Lord Newsome!” Mathild responded flippantly.

  Lady Sandahl paled. “Newsome! Is that why you made the viscount part of this scheme of Sandahl’s?”

  “Neither Lord Newsome or Sandahl or Malvern thought I was anything more than a mere woman—no mind of my own. A pleasing countenance only. I planned it all, spending hours watching you and Sandahl. At balls and entertainments, other than your female acquaintances, you only spent time with Lord Newsome. And I heard more than one gossip speak of the interesting way you clung to Newsome’s arm and the similarity between the viscount’s features and mine.”

  Tears streamed down the countess’s cheeks. “You thought yourself superior, but you brought down Death’s hand upon an innocent.” Hunt thought of Lady Sandahl’s previous statement of her close acquaintance to Newsome as a child. What was the truth? “Yes, you have the look of Andrew Mantal, for Drew was the perfect image of his father, Marlon Mantal, the 9th Viscount Newsome.”

  “Your knowledge of the Mantal family goes to prove my assumption, Mother,” Lady Mathild declared in triumphant.

  Lady Sandahl dropped her head in defeat. “You have the look of Marlon Mantal, child, because the late viscount was my father. I am Mantal’s daughter by his mistress, a widow upon his estate. The dowager viscountess’s former governess became my caretaker. Marlon Mantal provided Miss Odom a roomy cottage and an annual pension above the customary amount, for which Miss Odom claimed me as the only child of her late brother. I knew a childhood as part of the gentry, but Marlon never forgot me. He visited me often, as did his son. When we met in public, I spent time with Drew because he was my half-brother, and I missed him miserably.” She turned to Hunt. “I must apologize, my lord. Although he could not acknowledge her in the same manner, as he would like, Andrew remained most protective of his niece. Any animosity he displayed toward you came purely in protection of Mathild’s interest. Perhaps if we had explained the connections to my daughter—”

  “You speak an untruth! Sandahl would never marry another man’s by-blow!” Lady Mathild protested.

  “But he would marry the ward of a powerful viscount, especially when the woman brought a large dowry to secure his silence. Despite what the gossips claim, I never seduced Carpenter. It is true, in many ways, that I admired my husband for he accepted the unexpected role of benefactor, and I knew gratitude for whatever kindness he allowed. You see, the previous Lord Newsome negotiated a bargain with Carpenter to marry his illegitimate daughter and to claim her illegitimate child as his own. Carpenter never knew the name of the man who claimed my innocence. My husband gambled on the possibility I would present him an heir to eliminate his younger brother’s claim to the family’s title.”

  The girl’s ire rose quickly. Instead of knowing remorse at the false havoc she had created, she continued to blame others for her flaws. “If so, I demand the name of my father. Do not send me to the gallows, Mother, without knowledge of who I am.”

  The countess shook off the request. “I shall hold my tongue. I made my promises long ago.”

  Silence fell upon the room for several elongated seconds before Lady Mathild’s spiteful words returned. “You do not know his name!” she accused. “Were there so many, Mother?”

  Hunt’s heart did a double flip in response to the girl’s vituperation, but it was his father who shot to his feet.

  “You will
not speak so unkindly to your mother in my presence! In this business, Lady Sandahl acted with honor. If you what to know who your father is, then I will tell you!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Hunt’s eyes sought his mother’s. For a few brief seconds, he thought the duchess’s former qualms had proven correct, but his mother’s expression displayed only concern for the duke’s obvious anguish.

  Lady Mathild did not appear intimidated by Devilfoard’s gesture. Instead, triumph crossed her countenance. “Are you claiming paternity, Duke?”

  His father eyed the girl with undisguised disgust. His chin lifted in perfect contempt. “You foolish chit.” Devilfoard spat the words. “A duke would never consider arranging a marriage between his heir and his by-blow. What type of children would that produce? Certainly not the type to protect the dukedom!” He gave a harsh laugh. “Do you have any concept of how many illegitimate children are born to the aristocracy? Instead of blaming the world for their position in life, those born on the wrong side of the blanket learn to deal with their position in Society. They do not permit the world to wound them. If you require a perfect example of honor, look no further than your mother. She made a bargain to protect you, and you repaid her sacrifice with deception. You should have let the gossips run their tongues. You had them beaten. Now they will know the last ‘I told you.’”

  “There is no need, Devilfoard, to speak further on this matter,” Lady Sandahl said softly. “Keep your secrets, and I shall keep mine.” She turned to the baronet. “With your permission, Sir Alexander, I would prefer to withdraw to my husband’s estate before this farce becomes common knowledge.”

  “Certainly, Countess.”

  Lady Sandahl struggled to her feet. “Duchess, may I ask the favor of a maid to assist me? As Ivy proved herself loyal to Sandahl and Mathild, I believe it best I curtail her employment.”

  “I shall arrange for someone to come to your quarters to pack your belongings. Would you require her to act as your traveling companion during your return to your country seat?”