by Allison Lane
Linden confused her more each day, for his behavior was as inconsistent as his conversation. He had actually avoided Sarah last night. Perhaps he’d agreed to let Torwell have her. Why else would he have dragged the supposed companion off to the portrait gallery, leaving Torwell and Sarah alone?
Her initial fear had been ravishment – if Mary wasn’t entertaining him, he must be growing desperate – but he’d only questioned her about the pictures. Did he find her so repulsive that he would not even flirt? Yet the change in his behavior raised disturbing images. If he’d arranged to recover the dowry without having to wed, he would be even angrier to discover that Sarah didn’t control it.
For God’s sake, Alex. Quit shilly-shallying. You sound like a brainless widgeon!
True. Thinking was pointless. Every new delay made her position worse. Torwell swore that Linden was better than gossip implied. She believed him – her hand trembled at the admission that she trusted him; never before had she trusted any man – so tonight she must confess. If he offered, she must accept. They would probably wed immediately.
Pain doubled her over.
* * * *
Tony chopped at a root intruding into his trench. Once he merged his two identities, he could hire assistants to do the heaviest digging. Removing the centuries of dirt and debris that covered Roman sites was boring work that offered little reward.
Miss Merideth had been abstracted since breakfast, leaving him to his unproductive thoughts. Though digging had always been a time for pleasant contemplation, today it seemed dull. He’d become accustomed to her enthusiasm.
In the week they had worked together, she had been full of questions. And argument, he admitted, suppressing a grin. Several times she had scoffed at his pontifical remarks. And her logic was often right.
But today, she was quiet. Too quiet. Lines creased her brow, as though she carried the weight of the universe on her shoulders. He had tried to draw her out, hoping he could put a smile back on her face, but she had deflected his concern. He would not ask again.
Which was good, he reminded himself, forcing his thoughts back to business. The villa was distracting him. He needed to remember that marriage could actually increase his access to Vale House. He would even have Miss Merideth’s assistance – though that was a double-edged sword, he admitted as that familiar wave of lust washed over him. But time would remedy that, so his only problem would be to keep Sir Winton from selling artifacts before he had a chance to study them.
Today would be his last day of digging until spring. Tomorrow he would escort Miss Vale to the festival, draw her away from the others, then propose. Putting off the inevitable was pointless. He would not confess until shortly before the wedding, adding at least four more days to the deceit, so the longer he dragged out his courtship, the more difficult that confession would become.
She would make an acceptable wife, he reminded himself, driving a spade deep enough to strike a rock – at least he hoped it was a rock. Temper was making him careless.
She would do. She was pretty and sweet. And capable of running a household – he’d revised his impressions on that score; Miss Merideth spent most of her time at the villa, so Miss Vale had to be overseeing the staff. Her foot did not bother him. If anything, it accounted for her sweet temper. Most diamonds had become selfish, greedy harridans by the time they reached London. He didn’t want a wife who would make constant demands on him.
Yet his heart sank lower as he ticked off each asset, for they paled against her one glaring fault. She was the most insipid woman he had ever met. Even his mother, who was thoroughly under his father’s thumb, displayed more spirit. In one way, it was good – he need never fret that she would object to his absences. But he wanted a home that would welcome him, not one that would oppress him with dullness. Could she provide it? His heart already recoiled at having to escort her tomorrow.
But perhaps he was doing her an injustice. She must prefer his company, for she had willingly abandoned Jon whenever he tried to attract her attention. His neglect was his own fault. He often found himself debating with Miss Merideth when he should have been courting Miss Vale. Even Jon had noticed, pointedly removing Miss Merideth from the drawing room last evening so he could get on with business.
Hardening his determination, he wrestled the latest rock out of the trench. Tonight he would remain at Miss Vale’s side, ignoring the others completely. Tomorrow he would propose.
* * * *
“No more reneging, Tony.” Jon returned a book to the library shelf. “You vowed to finish it today, and I will hold you to that. I can no longer keep up this pretense. I’ve forgotten many of my early claims, a fact Miss Merideth has noticed. Miss Vale politely ignores my contradictions, but even she has frowned at me more than once. All these lies are keeping me awake at night.”
“Forgive me for placing you in so unbearable a position.” He’d imposed on Jon more than enough. “But I have every intention of settling the matter today. When I signal you, draw Miss Merideth away. I need Miss Vale’s complete attention. She is too anxious for her companion when we are all together.”
“You won’t force her.”
“Of course not! Though I will do my best to talk her round. Once she agrees to wed me, I will send Simms for a special license. You can marry us when it arrives.” He should have picked one up before coming here, but he hadn’t thought of it. At the time, he had believed eloping would be necessary to evade Sir Winton.
“Not under false pretenses.”
So it was suspicion rather than cold feet that was putting the icy formality into Jon’s tone. Or last night’s unpleasantness, though he still had no idea what had happened. Jon’s conversation with Miss Merideth had suddenly exploded into an argument. Miss Merideth had fled. Miss Vale had followed. But Jon refused to discuss it.
At least he could reassure him on this point. “I wouldn’t ask you to condone a lie. An illegal union would cost me everything.”
“It’s not just that,” said Jon with a sigh. “She doesn’t deserve the tricks we’ve played on her. I wish we’d never started.”
“So do I, but it will be over soon.”
A scream rent the air.
“Miss Vale!” Jon gasped, beating him to the door. Miss Merideth was already kneeling beside the crumpled form when they reached the hall.
“What happened?” Tony demanded.
“She slipped on the stairs.” Her hands remained steady as she examined Miss Vale’s good ankle, but she was clearly upset.
Miss Vale struggled into a more modest position, tugging her skirt until it covered her twisted foot. “I don’t think it is broken,” she said, though she winced from her companion’s prodding. “It should be fine in a few minutes.”
“Nonsense,” snapped Jon. “You must summon a doctor immediately.”
“No!”
Tony stared at Miss Merideth, surprised at her vehemence.
Her eyes dropped. “It is merely a sprain,” she said more calmly. “If you can carry her into the drawing room, I will examine it more closely. But I suspect that a few days of rest will cure it. We call the doctor only in extreme emergency,” she added, meeting his gaze.
“Very well.” He understood. A few country doctors were competent physicians whose efforts speeded healing. Others were charlatans whose ministrations inflicted worse damage. Most lay in between. The nearest doctor to his last excavation had been downright dangerous, nearly killing a boy through excessive blood-letting before Tony could bring in a man from Carlisle to set his broken leg.
Scooping Miss Vale into his arms, he carried her to the drawing room couch. Concentrating on protecting her injury allowed him to ignore her slight frame. Comparisons would make duty even harder.
“I will stay with her,” said Miss Merideth, drawing him aside. “You and Mr. Linden can leave for town now.”
“Not without you.”
“Go. She needs to remain under observation for a few hours, but you can do nothin
g for her, and you wanted to attend the festival. She is embarrassed enough by this accident. That will worsen if she believes her clumsiness ruined your outing.”
She was right. However much he wanted to settle his betrothal, he could not do so now. He had sworn not to coerce her, but tending her would damage her reputation, removing any choice about marriage.
Even Jon would accept this new delay. If she must remain quiet for several days, he would see even less of her than before.
Irritated over the postponement – yet lighthearted for the same reason – he bade the ladies farewell, dragging an equally reluctant Jon outside.
* * * *
Alex stayed at the window until Linden’s carriage was out of sight. The accident had provided very lowering insight into both gentlemen’s minds.
Linden had shocked her. Not only had he arrived first, but fear had twisted his face. And it had nothing to do with his inheritance, for it remained long after he knew that Sarah had suffered no serious damage. Even after it faded, he’d remained concerned. Was he falling in love with Sarah? What a nasty complication that would be. But it might explain why he had started last night’s fight.
For the first time since his arrival, he had refused to move from Sarah’s side. She’d plowed ahead with her confession anyway, beginning with the fears that had resulted in her decision to lie. But the moment she’d mentioned his reputation, he’d exploded.
“Why must you harp on my background?” he’d demanded, brown eyes turning harsh in the lamplight. “I am sick and tired of being quizzed by servants. Your employer is satisfied. That is all you need to know.” He’d refused to listen to another word, just as every other man did. So she’d given up. He was in no mood to forgive anything.
Only now did she understand. His quest had changed. Having formed an attachment to Sarah, talking to the companion was a waste of his valuable time.
She clenched her fists.
But why, then, had he dragged her off to the gallery two nights ago? And why talk to her more than to Sarah? He’d made no mention of marriage. Sarah still described him as confused and irritated, not symptoms of a man courting a woman he loved. And why let Torwell carry Sarah to the couch? Was he trying so hard to distance himself from his reputation that he dared not touch anyone?
Instead of trying to explain, she should have announced her deceit and been done with it. Now she was left with new concerns. He would take it even harder if she had led him to love the wrong lady. Even if Torwell were willing to wed her and transfer everything back to Linden, she would lose. Torwell preferred Sarah, too.
Her head spun.
Torwell’s infatuation added to her confusion. A blind man could see that he wanted Sarah, so why was Linden dragging his feet? Until last night, he had willingly allowed Torwell to cut him out.
They were gone.
“Are you all right?” she asked, turning back to the room.
“Of course. I did not really fall.”
She sighed in relief, for she hadn’t been sure. “Then you are a far better actress than I am. I could have sworn you took a genuine tumble. Forgive me for putting you through this, but after last night, I didn’t know what else to do.”
“It is nothing. But you must confess tonight. I will not be there to divide his attention, so you will have no excuses. Surely you know that he is a decent man.”
“Better than I thought, yes. But how much? A reputation of that magnitude does not grow from a young man’s wild oats.”
“Alex! Indecision is not like you. Trust me. I have spent many hours with him. Youthful indiscretion may have started it, but others keep the tale alive for their own purposes. You must know that society is slow to forgive. He could be ten years past a problem and still find it a millstone round his neck.”
“True.” She frowned. “But his behavior is not as benign as he would have us believe. He is playacting much of the time.”
“No.”
“Face facts, Sarah. You saw him last week – meek and mild, even as he leered down your gown.”
“Alex!” She blushed.
“He does exactly what he wants, even when pretending to do the opposite.” Her tone hardened as she realized that last night’s fight had also been deliberate, driving her from the drawing room so he needn’t bother with her.
“You exaggerate.” Sarah’s quiet voice cut through the haze of anger. “And unless you condone your father’s cheating, you have little choice.”
“I had already decided to accept him,” she admitted. “The problem is confessing this ridiculous deceit. I never meant it to last this long. By now, I fear he will wash his hands of us when he learns the truth.”
“He cannot afford to,” Sarah said stoutly. “His reasons for pursuing this match are far stronger than yours. No matter how badly you behave, he must wed you. But if you let this drag on much longer, he may make you pay for the humiliation. Tell them the truth when they return.”
“Only if I can get Linden alone.” She couldn’t watch Torwell’s respect die. It would, of course, but she could not face him while it happened. “Tomorrow I will send Torwell to the villa alone, then give Linden a tour of the estate – you will need to rest. I will tell him then.” She would drive him to the orchard. Faced with a three-mile hike home if he fled, he would listen until she had finished speaking.
“Very well. But that must be the end. No more procrastinating.” Rising from the couch, she headed upstairs to her room.
Alex sighed, relieved that Sarah’s limp was no more pronounced than usual.
Tomorrow.
And in the meantime, she would discover how Linden behaved when he was not pretending to be a saint.
She summoned Murch. “I want you to observe our guests, particularly Linden. I wish to know what he does.”
“Yes, Miss Alex.” But his face was troubled. He started to speak, but thought better of it.
“You needn’t chastise me for adding a new deceit to the old,” she said, interpreting his look. “I will finish it tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Remaining silent about the bits of stone you find in the wood is a small thing, but the staff is unaccustomed to secrets. Someone is bound to slip.”
She caught up on the household accounts while searching her mind for an approach that would earn Linden’s forgiveness. How had she backed herself into so demeaning a corner? She must have been mad.
But the past could not be changed, so she must deal with the consequences.
Murch returned before dark.
“The gentlemen are back,” he reported. “They did not introduce themselves to the villagers and made no mention of Vale House. When the innkeeper asked where they were staying, Mr. Torwell claimed they were headed for Gloucester and had merely stopped on a whim. They sampled gingerbread and sweetmeats, enjoyed the entertainment, and paid close attention to the horses offered for sale. The blacksmith’s daughter seemed interested in Mr. Torwell, but he ignored her. The Mason girl flirted with Mr. Linden, without drawing a response. Perhaps they are concerned about Miss Sarah’s injury, for they left before the feasting commenced, claiming a wish to reach Gloucester before dark. And they seem eager to protect your reputation, for they did indeed head for the post road, using back lanes to return here.”
“Thank you, Murch.”
Now what? Perhaps Linden really had outgrown whatever wildness had produced his reputation. Or maybe the men had remained on good behavior, knowing that news of any slip would reach to Vale House.
Stupid, Alex. Very stupid. Of course they would not revert to form so close to her home. Half the servants had attended the fair today. The rest would go this evening. Linden was determined to appear a saint, even making his cousin tell the lies about their business.
So her cowardice had produced only a new deceit. She should have called both men into the hall this morning and announced her identity. Now it would be even harder. How could she begin? Please accept my most humble apologies, Mr. Linden. But believing you
to be a monster, I hid behind my companion’s skirts…
That would never do. Knowing you meant to offer for me, I pretended to be someone else until I decided that I could tolerate you…
Worse. That put her in the position of proposing. Such a breach of propriety was as bad as her deception. And what if he refused? The image of his face bent over a supposedly injured Sarah smote her heart.
Fearing you would compromise me, I diverted your attention to a cripple…
Impossible. Even in the face of his reputation, her assumptions were insulting. How was she to do this?
* * * *
Jon chewed his dinner in peace. For once, he could enjoy the food, for his companions had not said a word since sitting down.
He wasn’t concerned about Miss Merideth. She might remain piqued over last night’s outburst – he’d been so frustrated by her pressure that he’d wanted only to escape – or her silence might be guilt over Miss Vale’s fall. But her troubles were temporary.
Tony presented a more serious problem, for he was suffering one of his moods.
He would never blame Tony for being moody. Uncle Thomas had tried every way he could think of to break his spirit – unreasonable punishments, heavy-handed discipline, punitive orders, setting a host of spies to watch his every move, blatantly favoring the nephew over the son…
It was a miracle that Tony had survived. He was probably the only boy in school who welcomed the harsh discipline as an improvement over living at home. At least school punishments were rarely malicious.
But despite Tony’s usual equanimity, frustration sometimes overwhelmed him. Blue-devils would move in, bringing a blackness of spirit that might last for days. During those periods, he would withdraw into himself, brooding until the pressure exploded in a frenzy of activity.
As a child, the moods would often break in an outburst of disobedience – like the summer that had created his reputation. As an adult, they usually drove him to a frenzy of work. Tony would move a mountain of rock tomorrow.