The Love and Temptation Series

by M. C. Beaton

  “Now,” she hissed. “The letter!”

  Mary placed it in her hand. Captain Cramble opened the street door, and the three criminals disappeared into the night.

  Lady Rennenord ran up the stairs as fast as she could and triumphantly threw the letter on the fire, taking the poker and hitting the curling, blackening pieces of paper again and again until there was nothing left but red-hot ash.

  Unaware that she had burned a perfectly blank sheet of paper, she took herself off to bed.

  “Well, we’ve still got the letter,” said Captain Cramble, twirling his cane in the air to attract the attention of a cab.

  “Yes,” gloated Cassandra. “Won’t she be mad when we go back for more.”

  “We’re not going back,” said her sister. “We’re getting out of the country as fast as we can. Only greedy fools go to the same well twice.”

  They all climbed into a hack. “Berkeley Square,” said Miss Mary Hope.

  “What we goin’ there for?” asked Cassandra.

  “To deliver Lady Rennenord’s letter to Lord Berham. We shall pay the driver to give it to his lordship’s butler. No sense in showing our faces.”

  “But why?” grumbled Cassandra.

  “A farewell gesture,” said Miss Mary grandly. “That Lady Rennenord is an evil woman.”

  “And who should know better than you!” said the captain cheerfully. “It takes one to recognize one, eh, what?”

  He was sitting between the sisters, and although the carriage was dark, he could see the shine of their eyes as they both turned and looked at him steadily.

  Captain Cramble clutched the bag of diamonds more tightly and felt a faint shiver of fear.

  Chapter 8

  Lady Rennenord was surprised to be woken by her maid at the unearthly hour of nine in the morning with the intelligence that Lord Berham had called and was waiting below stairs.

  He was not supposed to call for her until noon.

  She had had only about four hours of sleep. She had not left the ball until three in the morning, and the subsequent excitement of her night visitors had kept her awake until five.

  Calling for her lady’s maid, she scrutinized her face anxiously in the glass. Faint wrinkles were showing at the edge of her eyes, and the skin under her chin looked a little slack.

  But at least she knew she had nothing to fear. That terrible letter was so much cold ash in the grate.

  It took her an hour to be satisfied with her appearance. By the time she had finished dressing, her bedroom was a mess of scattered and discarded clothes and her maid was in tears.

  Lord Berham was in the library, a little-used room downstairs. The air felt musty and stale. Lady Rennenord frowned over the stupidity of these town servants, curtsied to Lord Berham, and murmured that they would be more comfortable in the morning room.

  She kept glancing at his face for some sign as to the nature of his call. It looked harsh and grim and preoccupied.

  Becoming increasingly nervous, she sat down in the morning room and smiled up at his hard face.

  “And to what do I…” she began.

  Her voice trailed away as he held an open letter in front of her eyes. It was the one she had sent to the seminary, the one she thought she had burned the night before.

  “This was delivered to my butler, madam, shortly before dawn. I await your explanation.”

  If Lady Rennenord had forced herself quite simply to say that the letter was a forgery, he might have believed her. She was unaware that in her guilt and distress she looked very pretty and feminine. And Miss Mary and Miss Cassandra Hope had proved themselves wicked and untrustworthy and a pair of consummate liars. The expression of his face was already softening as he looked down on her as she sat there in a lavender gown with multiple flounces and tucks and satin ribbons. A subtle perfume was drifting from her. She had rehearsed every seductive movement for so long and so well that she performed all the little tricks unconsciously, even in her distress. The rapid breathing accentuated the rise and fall of her bosom. The barely withheld tears made her eyes large and luminous. The trembling mouth looked infinitely appealing.

  Then the whole delicious confection seemed to harden, to draw itself together into a rigid matron in a state of badly feigned outrage.

  “I do not need to explain my actions to you, Lord Berham,” she said coldly. Lady Rennenord believed that all hope was lost, and she was rapidly becoming vindictive. This never would have come about if he had just proposed in the first place instead of shilly-shallying like a schoolboy.

  Still, he could not quite believe her to be guilty.

  “I demand an explanation,” he said. “You took it upon yourself to recommend this seminary for my ward. You appear to have written a dreadful letter. You…”

  “Shut up!”

  Lady Rennenord rose and faced him. “I was merely playing for time until you came to your senses. What was I to do? Of course, I would have sent for Frederica once we were married. But while she was there, you could not see anyone else.

  “Think of it. The great earl of Berham falling in love with a schoolgirl. A schoolgirl who tricked him. She knew what she was doing when she arrived dressed as a boy. You were meant to be compromised.”

  His face was stiff with disgust. Nothing is deeper and more acid than the fury of a man who finds that he has been paying court to a series of gowns and carefully rehearsed attitudes.

  “Do not come near me or my ward again,” he said. “I have no intention of marrying any woman. This unfortunate episode has only gone to prove what I formerly believed: Marriage is a prison for fools and idiots! Good day to you.”

  He slammed out of the room.

  A few moments later, Harry shuffled in.

  “I say, was that Berham?” he asked. “He seemed in a terrible temper.”

  Clarissa Rennenord shrugged. “The game’s up, Harry,” she said. She told him of her visit from the captain and the sisters, of the trick with the letter and the loss of her diamonds, of the loss of Lord Berham.

  “You amaze me,” said Harry. “What a fool you are! Did you never think to open the paper they gave you and look at it? Oh, well, you’ve got plenty of jewels and money, and you ain’t a bad looker, so it’s no use crying.”

  “I am not crying, Harry. I want revenge. You should have heard him going on about how he would never marry.”

  “Well, there’s a way to fix that,” said Harry cheerfully.

  “How?”

  “Tell everyone about how that Armstrong girl was living under his roof dressed as a boy and without a chaperone. He’ll think it’s his servants gossiping.”

  “No, he won’t. They gossiped freely enough about his ward’s arrival when they thought she was a boy. But the minute the masquerade was discovered and he told them to keep quiet, they never breathed a word.”

  “Does it matter if he knows it is you? You don’t owe him any loyalty now. See, I’ll tell you what happened. Seems when he thought Frederica Armstrong was a boy, he took her to a prizefight at Berham. Cully was fighting Grigson, so all the ton were there. Some chaps remarked casually in the clubs that this ward of his looked remarkably like the boy who fainted at the prizefight. ‘Must have been her brother,’ says I, since you told me not to mention anything in case he thought he had to marry the girl. Now all I have to do is tell these chaps and… well, there you are. Society loves a scandal.”

  “They never quite believe scandal about debutantes with money.”

  “They will about this one. Haven’t you seen the way she looks at Berham? It’s obvious she’s head over heels in love with him. That means it’s crying out to the world that she ain’t interested in passing her fortune to any other man at the altar. So they’ll gossip like mad.”

  “I think, perhaps, he might be quite pleased to have his mind made up for him,” said Lady Rennenord slowly.

  “Oh, he might have been pleased given a few Seasons in Miss Armstrong’s company,” said Harry. “But he won’t li
ke being forced to marry her. He’ll be furious. He’ll never fall in love with the girl. Once he gets over his fury, at you, he’ll realize all the trouble she’s caused him.”

  “Then do it,” said Lady Rennenord viciously. “I will talk, too. And I will write to Mrs. Bellisle and tell her that the secret is out and that we can all talk freely. She will tell the whole of Berham.”

  She smiled at her brother. “I would love to see his face when he realizes he’ll have to get married after all!”

  At that moment the earl was unaware of the plans being made for his downfall. He was still in a towering rage. He summoned Miss Manson and Freddie as soon as he returned and told them of what he had found.

  “I knew she hated me,” said Freddie simply. But Miss Manson burst into tears, and all they could make out were disjointed remarks like, “I am a coward… so frightened… my cottage.”

  Suddenly the earl remembered visiting Miss Manson to ask about Freddie and Miss Manson saying something about its being a pleasant cottage instead of answering his question.

  He signaled to Freddie to be quiet until Miss Manson had recovered. When she had dried her eyes, he said, “You know something, don’t you, Miss Manson? Something about Lady Rennenord. And it’s got something to do with that cottage of yours. Does she own it?”

  “Oh, no, my lord,” hiccuped Miss Manson. “Mrs. Bellisle owns it. Oh, I will tell you all. I will be dismissed, but I knew my good fortune could not last. I felt it here,” she said, striking her breast. She took a deep breath, and the whole miserable story of poverty and fear poured out.

  “I knew if I told you about how really horrible the seminary was, then she would get Mrs. Bellisle to evict me. But I did go to Lamstowe,” she ended pathetically. “And I did help Frederica to escape.”

  “And did you not think I would protect you?” demanded the earl.

  “No,” said Miss Manson. “You see, I thought you had too many great cares and responsibilities to concern yourself with me. But I will not be an embarrassment to you any longer. I will leave this day.”

  “No, you shall not,” said Freddie. “Of course Lord Berham understands. You don’t need to be poor to understand. You will stay here with me, and we will go to all the balls and parties.”

  “You may stay,” echoed the earl. “But,” he added severely, “you must place your loyalty to Miss Armstrong above all else.”

  “I would die for her,” said Miss Manson. “I kneel to you, my lord, in gratitude.”

  She suited the action to the words. The earl gave a little sigh and lifted her to her feet. “Spare me these scenes, Miss Manson,” he said coldly. “Take Frederica upstairs, and both of you make ready to leave.”

  After they had gone, the earl sat brooding. His former existence, free of the troubles that women always seemed to bring, seemed like a pleasant landscape never again to be seen.

  He decided to spend the day at his club. He had done enough for Frederica. Let James Cameron escort her!

  Freddie tried to hide her dismal disappointment when she learned that he was not to go. She rallied slightly in James Cameron’s cheerful company and began to decide that the day might not turn out too badly after all. Her guardian was naturally upset by Lady Rennenord’s duplicity and was taking his anger out on everyone about him. He would have recovered by the evening, and then they could be comfortable again.

  The day was warm and misty. No sooner had they sat down at tables spread out on the meadows next to a stream that a steady rain began to fall as if someone had turned on a tap.

  There were screams from the ladies and shouts from the men as they called their servants to get the carriages ready.

  Mr. and Mrs. Oakley suggested that they all repair to their mansion, which was hard by. The party could continue there.

  But the bad weather had affected the spirits of the guests, and champagne seemed such a wishy-washy drink on a dreary day.

  Society no longer wanted to play and grew restless and malicious. The orchestra which was to perform for the guests had failed to appear, the fires smoked, a chill wind was rising outside, and the hard eyes of the ton looked around for some victim on whom to inflict their liverish disposition.

  Freddie began to feel after some time that there was a gossipy feeling of shock, curiosity, and malice directed towards herself.

  Quizzing glasses were pointed in her direction, heads leaned together, eyes slid away when they met hers.

  James Cameron was talking loudly and cheerfully in her ear about his plans to rejoin his regiment. At last Freddie felt she could bear it no longer and interrupted him by saying, “It must be the weather. I feel out of sorts. I feel everyone is talking about me.”

  James looked round in surprise. “They’re probably all saying what a lucky chap I am,” he said jovially. “There’s my friend, Captain Jimmy Frazier, signaling me like mad. Excuse me, Miss Frederica. I will just see what he wants.”

  Freddie nodded and he rose and left. She was sitting at the end of a long table, slightly apart from the rest of the guests.

  Miss Manson was at another table at the far end of the room. Freddie turned to engage the lady nearest her in conversation but received a startled haughty stare and then nothing but an excellent view of the lady’s lace-covered back.

  Freddie prayed that James would soon finish his conversation and return. She looked across to where he was standing with Captain Frazier. He caught her gaze and looked pointedly away, his normally cheerful face set in a mask of distaste.

  Something was very badly wrong. Summoning up all her courage and aware of fifty pairs of staring eyes, Freddie got up and walked across the room to where James Cameron was standing.

  She put up her chin as he pointedly turned his back on her, and then she rapped him on the shoulder with her fan.

  “What is the matter?” she demanded.

  At that, he turned slowly round and looked her coldly up and down.

  But then the earl miraculously appeared at Freddie’s side. He tucked Freddie’s trembling hand in his arm.

  “It seems I am obliged to you again for entertaining my fiancée,” he went on. Freddie gave a little gasp. He gave her arm a warning squeeze.

  “Fiancée!” exclaimed James Cameron. “But why didn’t you tell me? You said I was to escort your ward.”

  “So I did. I thought I had told you of my good fortune. You misunderstood me, Cameron. I was merely being civil to a young man so lately returned from the wars. I thought it would please you to be of our party. Colonel Harrison said you knew few people in London and were at loose ends.”

  Put at a thorough disadvantage, James Cameron blushed and stammered out his thanks.

  He presented Captain Frazier. Freddie managed a tolerable curtsy.

  Then the earl turned and surveyed the room. He took out his quizzing glass and looked thoughtfully around the sea of staring faces.

  “Where is Mrs. Oakley?” he demanded in a languid voice which nonetheless carried to every corner of the room. “It’s a deuced miserable day, and I am anxious to take my fiancée home.”

  Mrs. Oakley came hurrying up. Freddie murmured thanks for the entertainment in a dazed way. A little glow of happiness had started somewhere inside her and was beginning to spread throughout her whole body.

  He loved her! What a crazy, mad way to propose.

  Freddie forgot all about the malice and gossip of the room and hung on to the earl’s arm, looking up at him with adoring eyes.

  Miss Manson came hurrying up.

  “You may stay if you wish, Miss Manson,” said the earl. “I shall escort my fiancée home.”

  He gave her a warning look as she was about to burst into rapturous congratulations. “I think you will understand that we have a great deal to talk about.”

  Miss Manson had heard the gossip and had hated the party accordingly. She longed to leave but in view of the earl’s staggering news decided that she had better stay behind. She contented herself by hugging Freddie warmly.
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  Freddie sailed out on the earl’s arm, only dimly aware of the faces about her. The wind sighed in the trees outside and shook heavy raindrops onto the lawns. In the carriage she turned a bright and shining face up to the earl’s and then quailed before his look of fury.

  “Don’t you want to marry me?” she asked. “You look so fierce.”

  “No, of course I don’t want to marry you,” he snapped, looking straight ahead and therefore missing the flat, blank look of utter despair on Freddie’s face.

  “I called at my club after you had left. It was alive with gossip. It appears your resemblance to the youth I took to the prizefight had been remarked on. Now everyone appears to know that you and that youth are the same person and that you were under my roof without a chaperone, dressed as a boy. I could not find who had started the rumor, but Harry Struthers-Benton had left the club ten minutes before I arrived. He and his sister move quickly. Was nothing said to you at the Oakleys’?”

  “No, but it was terrible. They were all staring at me and whispering. And just before you arrived, Mr. Cameron cut me.”

  “Of course he did.” The earl gave a harsh laugh. “He must have been outraged. He must have thought I was palming off my used wares on him.”

  “No!” said Freddie, putting up her hands to her hot cheeks.

  “I arrived in time to salvage what I could of the situation. Now that we are to be married, the scandal will die out.”

  “But I don’t want to marry you, since you don’t want me,” said Freddie, becoming as furious as she was miserable. “Have you no thought for my feelings? Did you never consider that I might have dreamt of marrying someone nearer my own age?”

  “What we wished or did not wish for does not enter into this,” he said. “I am not having the name of Berham brought down into the mud. I am not in my dotage. What is this about dreaming of a young man? Had you formed a tendre for James Cameron?”

  “Yes!” Freddie lied furiously.

  “Forget him,” he said abruptly. “He obviously believed the first breath of scandal about you. I would not believe wrong of any woman I loved.”