by Nikki Poppen
“Thank you,” Giles said quietly, overwhelmed by the sentiments Tristan voiced. Tristan had never spoken to him in such a manner before, and to know that one’s friends cared so deeply for him nearly undid him.
“We don’t have to acknowledge her claim. We can squelch it right now and have her gone by breakfast” Tristan said again, his gaze returning to the window.
“I cannot live a life made out of a wrong done to another. There is enough truth in the diary, the handwriting, the birth certificate, to need further clarification. If nothing else, further clarification will strengthen our case and weaken hers” Giles stood his ground firmly.
“And if further probing reveals her claim to have merit?” Tristan asked.
“Then we’ll make those decisions at that time. I hope it will not come to that,” Giles said calmly. Now that the initial shock was over, he could begin planning the next step and that made him feel immeasurably better.
He saw the tic in Tristan’s cheek jump in silent disapproval, but to his credit Tristan said nothing, merely stared out the window with his arms crossed, his gaze hard.
“What shall we do now?” Alain asked.
“We shall send for the vicar. He is up north outside of York. It will take a while for him to be found and to make the trip. In the meanwhile, Irina will be our guest. We’ll pass her off as a distant relation. We’ll take her to the horse fair with us so I can keep an eye on her until the house party is over. I don’t want her running loose in the house and raising eyebrows. It would be best to introduce her quietly and upfront so no one thinks we’re hiding anything.”
Alain nodded his support. “With that settled, I shall catch a bit of sleep and see you in the main hall at ten for the fair. Cecile is looking forward to the outing.” He pressed a hand on Giles’s shoulder in support as he walked past him to the door. “We’ll get through this, you know, all of us together just like we’ve gotten through everything else”
Giles smiled for the first time since finding Irina in his bedroom. “I know. Thank you” It hadn’t been that long ago they’d rallied to Alain’s support when he thought he’d lost Cecile in the political turmoil of postNapoleon France. Nor had it been more than a handful years when they’d held baited breaths around Tristan’s sickbed after he’d been shot by a rogue agent. The wound had nearly proved fatal.
Alain cocked his head in Tristan’s direction. “He’ll come around. He’s just more protective of our circle than we realize.”
The door shut behind Alain, leaving Tristan with Giles. “I’m sorry Chatham isn’t here,” Tristan said suddenly, referring to the long-absent fourth member of their circle.
Giles tidied up the desk, shuffling papers he’d taken out of the safe. Chatham’s desertion was still a great mystery even to him who was perhaps closest to Chatham. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was in America. He’d been talking about that when we were all together for AlainAlexander’s christening. But that seems ages ago,” he said with a lightness he didn’t feel.
Tristan said nothing, only nodded. “I would offer to send for him but I don’t know where to look. If I thought anyone at Whitehall knew where he was.. Tristan broke off and shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s alright. The three of us are enough. It’s probably just as you said, nothing more than a poor attempt to exploit a weak link in the family.” Giles forced a smile. “I am off to freshen up so my guests don’t suspect I spent the night poorly” He paused a moment, debating how to say what he had to. “Tristan, I would like to ask you not to tell Isabella. Not yet”
Tristan looked dubious. “She’s bound to ask what we were doing all night. I can hardly tell her we were playing cards. You know she will be discreet. Is there a reason to hide any of this from her? She’s stood your friend for years just as the rest of us have.”
“Alain hasn’t seen the gypsy. But you did,” Giles began.
Tristan nodded, not following Giles’s direction. “Just briefly and in the dark at that”
“I know, but I think you would recognize her in the light of day. Her name is Irina Dupeski,” Giles said bluntly, knowing that his friend had an uncommon talent for remembering everything from the most trivial detail on up.
Tristan’s face clouded momentarily. “The fortuneteller that night at Denbigh’s party when I had first returned from the continent. Bella never did like her.” Tristan couldn’t suppress a short laugh. “Do you remember how mad Bella was that her fortune was all bad while the rest of ours was quite glamorous?”
Giles gave a small smile. “I remember. Irina will go by the name Cate while she’s here. Perhaps once she’s dressed up and with a different name, Isabella won’t recall her.”
“Well, we can try although I don’t like keeping secrets from my wife.” Tristan grimaced. “I’ll have Isabella send over some extra gowns for her, but if she finds out who’s been wearing her clothes, you will pay for it, not me” Tristan wagged a warning finger at Giles.
“Mea culpa,” Giles agreed. “We’ll put out the tale that she’s a shirttail relative and is late arriving because of a carriage accident or some such incident.” Giles sobered from the brief moment of levity that had seized them.
“I do mean to fight, Tristan. No one will take Spelthorne from me but I can’t simply turn her away without knowing the truth.”
Tristan met his gaze. “Darn right no one will take Spelthorne”
“Thank you. I’ll see you in a few hours.” Giles inclined his head graciously and departed.
I rina stretched, stiff from her nightlong vigil at the window seat. She had been too restless to take advantage of the luxurious bed in her chamber. In any case, she had been too guilt-ridden to sleep. The pain on Giles’s face had cut her. She felt the lowest of trollops for what she had done and how she had done it.
The truth should be easier than this. For a moment he had wanted her, seen something wonderful in her, then that dark friend of his barged in and ruined it, probably for the best. Nothing good could come from indulging with Giles Moncrief. An interlude with him would only cloud the issues between them.
From her window seat she could see the library with its elegant curve of windows. It had not filled her with a sense of victory to know that Giles had spent the night in there, most likely poring over the diary and conferring with his trusted friends. They had probably spent the night planning their strategies, ways to discredit her, ways to win in and out of the court system.
A man like Giles would leave no stone unturned, no pathway unexplored when it came to protecting what he felt was his. She had expected nothing less. She should have felt heartened that she’d won this first round; her request to stay at the abbey until all was settled had been granted, and she’d gotten him to look at the diary. She would gladly claim the victory although the truth was that she wasn’t sure how it would have turned out if Viscount Gresham hadn’t barged in and accidentally forced Giles’s hand.
Magda had practically danced about the room when Irina had rung for her in the kitchens and reported all that had transpired. In the midst of the behind the scenes hubbub of serving dinner, it had been relatively easy for Magda to insinuate herself among the maids and valets in the servants’ quarters to wait for Irina’s summons. Irina had summoned Magda immediately after being escorted to her chambers. Now Magda snored gently on a soft pallet in the large dressing room off the bedchamber, undisturbed by the doubts and worries that had kept Irina awake all night.
A knock sounded at the door, and Irina rose to answer it, hastily patting her hair. Surely Giles hadn’t finished the diary already, but who else could it be? No one else knew she was here.
A maid stood in the hall, several dresses carefully laid over her arms. “Miss Cate, the earl thought you would find these dresses useful since your trunks were damaged in the carriage accident. A dreadful happening to be sure, but you’re here now, safe and unhurt at last.” Any surprise the maid may have had over the door being answered by the lady herself and not
her maid was quickly disguised in a flow of chatter and a bustle of activity as she swept past Irina and started fussing over the dresses.
Irma desperately tried to follow the one-sided conversation, knowing it was vital to understanding what Giles expected of her, how he was explaining her presence to the staff.
“Ah yes, my maid and I were lucky to escape injury,” Irina confirmed, looking at the dresses laid out on the bed. They were exquisite and far finer than the few gowns she’d had made for the occasion. Not for the first time, she was swamped with a sense of inadequacy. What did she know about being a lady? She’d thought the gowns she’d purchased were quite fine. The price had certainly indicated as much. But the gowns spread before her were far more expensive and of much better quality.
Her first thought was that Giles had been quite kind to think of her and what she might wear. Her second thought was where the gowns had come from. She hoped they didn’t belong to the elegant lady who’d been on Giles’s arm most of the evening. It would be the cruelest of intentions to have her wear the gowns of his mistress. It would be the ultimate put down, the ultimate reminder of her place. It was hard to imagine Giles would resort to such an underhanded tactic. Then again, he had no reason to treat her well after what she’d disclosed last evening.
“It was kind of the earl to think of me. Where did he find clothes on such short notice?” She asked, probing for information and hoping her question wasn’t as transparent as it sounded.
“They’re Lady Isabella’s, the viscount’s wife,” the maid said reverently, in apparent awe. “I know it is early, but we’ll need time to alter the gowns” The maid gave her an assessing gaze. “The viscount’s wife is taller, so we’ll need to shorten everything four or five inches. We’ll have to hurry. The earl and his guests are leaving for the horse fair at ten o’clock sharp”
That brought Irina up short. He meant for her to go with the house party? She had thought to keep to her quarters. Admittedly, the thought of going to the horse fair was more appealing than staying cooped up in her rooms all day. But it also filled her with trepidation. What could he mean by including her? There was no time to consider what game he might be playing. The maid gestured toward the gowns.
“Which do you prefer, miss?”
She must play the lady, Irina told herself. She clearly recognized that two of the dresses were for dancing or dinner. They were far too exquisite for a carriage ride and a fair. But the remaining three were all day dresses, and she could not discern their specific functions. It would not help her cause to appear in less than appropriate garb. Irina gave a regal wave of her hand. “Choose one for me. I will wake my maid to help you.”
Three hours later, Irina twisted and turned in the dressing room’s long pier glass to see the back of her dress. “It’s lovely!” she exclaimed to Magda.
The maid had selected the cherry-striped muslin with its square neckline trimmed in tiny white lace. Threequarter length sleeves were gathered slightly above her elbow and dripped with falls of yet more lace.
Irina lifted the hem of the dress to peep at the leather half boots beneath. The borrowed shoes were only slightly too wide and the alterations had been minimal. In spite of the need for hemming, the gown had fit well enough although it had been a bit loose in the waist. The maid had skillfully fixed that with a satin sash.
A wide-brimmed straw bonnet trimmed in grosgrain ribbon to match the gown along with a pair of ladies gloves and a delicate white parasol lay on a footstool ready to complete the ensemble. The viscount’s wife had thought of everything from the luxurious silk stockings to the filmy wrap she could secure about her shoulders.
“I look like a real lady” Irina gave a final twirl. Satisfied, she crossed to her small trunk and began rummaging.
“Enough with that `real lady’ talk,” Magda snapped from her perch on the arm of a chair. “You are a real lady, manor born. Stop acting as if this is something you’re pretending to be. This is who you are”
Irina straightened, a black pouch in her hand. “You are sure I am not pretending, aren’t you? You are certain that I am Catherine Moncrief?” Her doubts were obvious. What if the story had become garbled over the years, if Magda had gotten confused? If Magda was using her for some nefarious purpose, one last scam? Who could blame her for wanting comfort and convenience in her later years? But Irina didn’t want to be an unwitting tool in that kind of scheme.
Magda scowled, the lines on her careworn face deepening. “The earl doesn’t doubt it. He’s keeping you in sight. He’s invited you along today to keep an eye on you. He doesn’t want you running about where you can cause trouble.”
Irina smiled weakly and nodded. So much for the fairy tale. Of course Magda was right. Giles couldn’t abandon his guests, and he could not leave her alone in the house. It had been nice to imagine for awhile that Giles had desired her company.
Irina opened the pouch and spilled a delicate necklace into her palm. “Should I wear it?”
Magda shook her head. “No. It’s too soon. Save it as a last trump.”
Irina replaced it and pulled the strings of the bag, tucking it away in her trunk. “It’s time to go. I can hear foot traffic in the hall. Everyone must be moving downstairs.”
Magda softened. “Remember who you are, and you’ll do fine. You’ve plenty of spunk in you. Just be yourself.” Magda patted her hand.
“That’s good because I don’t how to be anyone else,” Irina retorted. She would get through the awkwardness of today with her head up and her pride intact just as she’d gotten through countless other difficult situations in her life. If she could handle the rowdiness of a tavern, she could certainly manage a genteel outing to a horse fair.
With her parasol furled in one gloved hand and her reticule in the other, Irina sailed out the door of the room to join the rest of the party in the entry foyer. She paused at the top of the stairs, gripping the carved banister. Women dressed in colorful muslin gowns much like hers milled among men dressed in riding clothes, chattering gaily to one another. She drew a deep breath. The moment she stepped on those stairs, she would be Miss Cate, no longer Caterina Dupeski.
She spotted Giles immediately, picking out his golden hair and broad shoulders. He looked relaxed as he moved among his guests, stopping here and there to make brief inquiries. He paused at the group containing the woman Irina had seen with him the prior evening and bowed extravagantly over her hand, kissing it. Then he looked up and saw her and something sparked in his eyes. The woman saw it too and followed his gaze up the steps to where she stood.
There was no choice now. She had to move down the staircase to where Giles was waiting. He was turned out impeccably in buff breeches, riding boots, and a dark blue coat suitable for the outing. His white linen was crisp and spotless, a characteristic Irina was coming to quickly associate with him. His personal appearance was always immaculate, and he took great pride in being well turned out in all aspects of his appearance and hygiene. He smelled of soap and spices when she placed her hand on the arm he offered her. She knew he’d spent a restless night but all signs of sleeplessness and worry were carefully concealed.
“Good morning, Cate. I trust you found the items the maid brought to your room satisfactory?” He inquired graciously. It was hard to remember it was all just an act when he stood next to her paying her such polite attention.
“Yes, thank you. It was kind of you to see to my welfare after the carriage accident,” she said, indicating she’d fully understood the maid’s chatter.
Giles’s other hand closed over the top of hers briefly where it rested on his sleeve. “Very good. We are in accord then. Let me introduce you to a few of our guests”
He drew her through the crowd of guests to his group of close friends and presented her to Alain, Tristan, and their wives. It was awkward. Alain and Tristan greeted her politely but with reserve. Of course, they knew why she was here and were determined to protect Giles. To them, she was the enemy. She hadn’t exp
ected them to greet her with any enthusiasm.
Cecile and Isabella did not know. They were warm and friendly. Isabella discreetly assured her in low undertones that she looked fabulous in the cherry muslin and that she had not worn it yet. Her disguise must be effective. Isabella showed no sign of recognizing her from the Denbigh’s party years ago.
“Cate, you’ll be in good hands here. I must go and organize the carriages,” Giles said, catching her by surprise. The name was unfamiliar to her. She had been Irina or Caterina all her life. She had known laying claim to Spelthorne would change her life in multiple ways but it was something of a blow to realize how completely her life would change right down to her name. If she won her claim, she would no longer be, could no longer be, Caterina Dupeski. Suddenly, Cate seemed to fit, a cross between Caterina and Catherine-who she was and who she’d always been.
She paid halfhearted attention to the small talk flowing about her, finding that she was having a rather difficult time tearing her gaze away from following Giles as he went about his duties. Isabella and Cecile made polite inquiries, and she answered as best she could. After a bit, Cecile gave up and nodded to where Giles stood just outside the hall on the front verandah directing people to carriages. “He’s very good at sorting out people”
Cate felt herself blush. “Yes, he is.” There was no sense denying it. She’d been squarely caught in the act.
The hall had emptied out efficiently, leaving only their little cluster. Giles gestured to them and they trooped out to the verandah.
“I’ve put the four of you in the landau. I’ll take Cate up in the curricle with me,” Giles directed.
Tristan gave Giles a questioning look. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable with Alain and Cecile? Bella and I have wanted to try out those bays of yours” He nodded to where a tiger held the heads of the spirited team harnessed to the yellow curricle.
“I’ve wanted to put them through their paces, myself. They haven’t been worked properly for too long,” Giles said smoothly. Tristan nodded his assent, and everyone climbed aboard their respective vehicles.