“And how is it that you’ve come to know so much about her history?” Lady Carringden demanded to know.
“Lord Deveril has confided in me about the circumstances of Marina’s birth and the loss of her mother,” Willa replied.
Lady Carringden’s eyes narrowed. “How terribly forthright of him. I don’t suppose I need to tell you just how terrible it would be for such gossip to get out? Devil’s reputation is already sullied enough… but mine is not. And sharing an abode with the bastard daughter of my niece who likely died from the pox is pushing the limits of what I’m willing to respect.”
The woman was as cold as ice, Willa thought. “I can assure you that discretion will be maintained at all times.”
“Good. As for your ‘technique’ in dealing with difficult children, I find it utterly preposterous. Why, the rational world doesn’t even acknowledge a child’s existence until they are at least twice Marina’s age! Speaking to her as an adult, indeed!”
“To speak to her in any other way would be completely disrespectful of her past,” Willa protested.
Lady Carringden still appeared to be dismayed by the prospect of treating Marina with anything akin to respect. “Where, for heaven’s sake, did you get such a notion, my girl? Children of her age are not deserving of respect! They need discipline, my dear. Spare the rod and spoil the child! If you spank her when she begins that shrieking, it’ll stop soon enough!”
“I would hardly consider Marina spoiled, Lady Carringden! The child and her mother were living in abject poverty and barely eking out the most meager of existences! And that’s to say nothing of the grief she must feel at the loss of her mother!”
Lady Carringden’s expression darkened to something that resembled fury. “Loss! What would a child of her age even begin to understand of loss? Children, Miss Marks, are little better than animals! So long as they are fed when they are hungry and can sleep when they are tired, they are content!”
Willa was stunned by the vehemence and the complete lack of empathy that Lady Carringden had for the child. “I assure you, Lady Carringden, that children even younger that Marina are capable of experiencing grief.”
Lady Carringden laughed scoffingly. “And you are such an expert then? What sort of upbringing have you had, Miss Marks, that you are so familiar with grieving, impoverished urchins?”
“There were many younger girls at the school I attended, whom I became very close to, that have had difficult starts in life. Suffice it to say, my experience is sufficient to understand that the child is in pain,” Willa replied, keeping her temper in check by sheer dent of will. “I find it difficult to fathom, Lady Carringden, that you are so firm in your belief that Marina’s behavior is a choice and not a product of the trauma she has suffered!”
“My dear, if you believe that child is doing anything more than vying for attention and sweets, then you are as mad as my dear nephew!” Lady Carringden laughed again, this time with genuine if mean-spirited mirth. “All these strange ideas! Perhaps the two of you truly are a perfect match!”
Chapter Five
Devil sighed as he stared broodingly into the fire that blazed in the hearth. He’d had second, third and fourth thoughts about the scheme they had concocted. There were a dozen ways in which it could go wrong and a dozen more in which it could fail. He’d had to consider the fact that it was quite possible Miss Marks would not be able to effect any change in Marina at all. And if that were the case, he was without recourse. What could he possibly do with a child who did nothing but shriek at anyone who attempted to speak with her? And it wasn’t simply that it made his head ache or that it was endlessly frustrating. But he was not without sympathy for the girl. It was clear to him that she was in misery. There was no happiness or peace for the child, and what could he do for her? Nothing.
It was in his nature to be a man of action, whether it was drinking, gaming, fighting, dueling, wenching, or soldiering. What he was not accustomed to was being powerless. In this instance, held hostage by the emotional outbursts of a small child, there could be no other way to describe his situation. She was a sad, little tyrant. And every time he looked at her, he saw his sister. She had Alice’s eyes, the soft curve of her cheek so like the woman who had given birth to her, who had used her last breath to beg him to care for the daughter she was leaving behind. Did the child sense his own grief? Was that why she wailed so in his presence? Or was it something more sinister?
She feared men. All of them. Every footman, groom, and even the aging butler sent her into shrieking fits. She’d tolerate the maids so long as they didn’t touch her or come too close to her. Only the kindly and plump Mrs. Farrelly could comfort her. And yet, Miss Marks, with her mirrored shrieking and her calm, adult way of speaking to the girl, had managed to coax something from her during their first brief meeting that no one else had. Curiosity.
Perhaps that was a family trait, as well. Being curious about Miss Marks.
As if his thoughts had summoned her, there was a soft knock upon the library door.
“Come,” he called out, and the door swung inward. Miss Marks stepped inside. She’d changed from her traveling clothes into a simple frock of blue sprigged muslin. It was a modest gown, the neckline cut far higher than fashion dictated and shielding any hint of her bosom from his gaze. It was just as well. It would be a distraction he could ill afford. “Yes, Wilhelmina?”
Her eyebrow shot upward in an expression of disapproval. “I did not give you leave to use my given name, Lord Deveril.”
“And you are my betrothed, Wilhelmina. I daresay the world would believe you have given me leave to do that and quite a bit more,” he remarked. It was scandalous. And inflammatory. “Perhaps there is some derivative of your name that you prefer? Something that only your intimates call you? Surely it would not be inappropriate for me to do so under the circumstances.”
Her cheeks flamed, but not with embarrassment. It was anger. He could see that clearly enough in the flashing of her eyes and the way her shoulders inched back slightly. Such posture would have been the envy of any soldier.
“Lord Deveril, I might remind you that this betrothal is a sham. Any pretense otherwise while we are free from prying eyes is nothing more than a foolish waste of time. As my placement here is temporary and I do not mean to remain in your employ for more than a month, it would be quite foolish to indulge in such.”
He smiled and eased back in his chair, propping his booted feet on the desk. “Foolish indulgences are amongst my favorite pursuits… and a particular skill of mine. Shall I show you?”
“Have you been in to the brandy?” she demanded.
“Not a drop, a dollop, or a dram,” he denied evenly. “Perhaps that is why I’m being churlish. Would you care to have a drink with me and see if, perhaps, you can discern a difference in my behavior?”
“You said we had matters to discuss and should walk in the garden. I’m amenable to that so long as we have a maid or footman present,” she said.
“A maid or footman? Do I inspire that much fear in you, Miss Marks?”
“You inspire nothing in me, my lord. I would request the same walking with any man I do not know well,” she replied.
“Well, now that I’ve effectively been put in my place, I’ll point out that the garden is small with no hidden corners where I can utilize all of my nefarious skills. You’re safer in the garden than in this room, Miss Marks, and certainly better observed.”
She crossed the room to the terrace doors and looked out at the small garden. He knew what she saw. A square patch of grass with some shrubs and trees around the perimeter and a gate that led to the mews. It was a disgrace, really, that so fine a house would have such a sad little garden, but his father had refused to spend money to maintain something so few would ever see. It was just another example of his skinflint ways.
“Very well,” she said. “It will be a short walk, clearly.”
“Clearly,” he agreed, following her onto the terrace. “
What is it you wished to say to me, Miss Marks?”
“I wished to speak with you about an outing for Marina. Not immediately, of course. But perhaps in a few days, when she is more accustomed to my presence here, I would like to take her to the Royal Menagerie. She has expressed an interest in the animals you carved. Perhaps foolish indulgences are not your greatest talent after all!”
“A simple way to pass the time while I was on watch at our many camps in India,” he said. It was a useless hobby, something he’d done when there had been naught else to do.
“Do you miss it?” she asked.
“Miss what?”
“India,” she replied. “Many men seem to fall in love with it. Others still to revile it. I wondered which camp you might fall in.”
“I fall into the camp of those who were there without choice. It was the army or being disinherited entirely. India is simply a place, but it does hold magic and mystery, to be sure.” He paused then, looking her over from head to toe, taking in the conservatively arranged blonde curls and the flashing green eyes, porcelain perfect skin and lips so ripe and plump he longed to nip at them with his teeth and see if they tasted as sweet as they appeared. “But England holds its own magic and mystery, if one knows where to look for it.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?” He uttered the rejoinder with as much innocence as a man of his long debauched state could muster. There was a small bench near the gate, so he seated himself on it, leaving room for her to join him if she felt inclined. She did not.
“Stop flirting. Stop being outrageous for the sake of it!”
“We are supposed to be engaged, Miss Marks.” He was unable to conceal his exasperation. “How on earth are we supposed to act as a betrothed couple if there is no flirting?”
“We will hardly be in society enough for it to matter. In truth, the fewer people who see us to cast doubt on our elaborate tale, the better! Who would believe that I might ever be betrothed a man such as you?”
He cocked one eyebrow at that. In truth, he was more than a little offended by her tone. “And why would you never be engaged to a man such as me? Is it really so unbelievable that I would free myself from my scandalous past by entering into the bonds of holy matrimony?”
She blinked in surprise. “You mistake me, my lord. I am a governess. Not only am I a lowly governess, I am also the illegitimate daughter of the younger son of an earl with more scandals attached to his name than even you possess. No one would ever believe that you would stoop to such depths, and we’re better off not putting it to the test.”
She turned and crossed the patchy expanse of grass, over the terrace, and disappeared into the library once more, leaving him sitting in the sad little garden alone.
*
Alaric banged on the door of the small room that had been Alice’s abode for the last few years. She’d always managed to scrape together just enough to keep the roof over her head, though not much more than that. He never bothered to ask how. There were few enough options. He’d long since ceased being tempted by her ever dwindling charms. If she could turn a coin with them, so be it. He neither knew nor cared.
“Let me in, Alice,” he called out. “I want that blasted ring back. You owe me!” It had been nigh on two months since he’d been there and, in those two months, his already horrible luck had somehow taken a sharp and uglier turn. The last game of cards he’d managed to scrape together a stake for had not gone well, not in the least. He was in deep, and he needed to scrounge together enough coin to pay what he owed or get himself far enough from London that the moneylenders couldn’t sic their pack of mongrels on him.
“She’s not ’ere!”
The flattened vowels and harsh cockney accent of Alice’s neighbor, Mrs. Blye, had him gritting his teeth. He detested the coarse creature. Every interaction with her only reminded him of how far he’d fallen and how dismally the scheme with Alice had failed. Had her father not been a skinflint with a dark and shriveled heart, he’d have been wed to an heiress and dancing through the finest ballrooms in London! “Then where is she?”
“Dead. Been that way for a month past now, she ’as. Might’ve known it if you’d bothered to look in on the girl,” she said, her voice ringing with condemnation.
“Dead?” he asked. “Are you certain?”
“Am I certain, ’e asks. I know dead right enough, sir, and dead she was. Dead as a doornail. Lung ailment, faded right fast she did. ’Tweren’t nothin’ to be done for the poor thing. Not that you’d know… or care. You took off right enough, shakin’ the dust of this place from your coattails without even a by your leave!”
The blasted tea. She’d drank it too quickly, likely using it to fill her belly while she gave the small bit of food she possessed to the child. He needed to find that tin before it was discovered, and he needed that damned ring. “And her things, Mrs. Blye? Did the landlord take them for safekeeping?”
She cackled. “Safekeepin’! Aye, right enough then! Took ’em for safekeepin’ to the pawnbroker if’n ’e got ’is ’ands on ’em! Worried about things and not even askin’ after your own child!”
“I assume she’s in the workhouse. It’s a good enough place for her,” he said dismissively. Heaven knew he wanted nothing to do with the brat.
Mrs. Blye sneered at him in disgust. “I’d like to see you in the work’ouse, I would! She didn’t go there and ’tweren’t the landlord, at all, what took ’er things. Miss Alice’s brother showed up. Right ’andsome ’e was. Showed up in the nick of time and eased ’er mind as she passed from this world… and then took the sweet babe back with ’im. Not that you’d care to know what ’ad become of your own daughter. No. You’d rather ask about that worthless bit of tin you put on Alice’s finger. I warned ’er about you, I did. A dozen times or more, I told ’er what a no-good, worthless sot you are! But she wouldn’t ’ear it. That’s what love got for poor Alice! Dyin’ while ’er child watched and the man she gave ’er ’eart to is out with a doxy!”
Alaric didn’t bother taking offense. There was nothing in what the old bawd said that wasn’t the absolute truth, except for the fever bit. It had been poison that had taken Alice and well he knew it. That tin of tea he’d given her had been laced liberally with it. It was her only luxury and a gift from him, so he’d known she’d use it rather than risk offending him. Once he’d placed it in her hands, he’d vacated the premises rather than come up with daily excuses as to why he must decline the beverage. It was rather disappointing that the brat hadn’t succumbed as well. He’d thought it would be the most expedient way to rid himself of them both. But she didn’t share her mother’s love of that particular potable. Of course, the appearance of Alice’s older brother now changed everything. What he might have once regarded as misfortune may very well have become a stroke of luck. “Alice’s brother… Lord Deveril? He has the child?”
“Aye, ’e does. And I ’ope ’e is the Devil Lord what folks say. And I ’ope ’e runs you right through if you dare to darken ’is door!” With that, Mrs. Blye slammed the door to her own little hovel, the thin and ramshackle walls rattling with the force of it. He was left standing in the narrow corridor, contemplating his recent and potential change in fortune.
Alice might have taken the ring he’d given her to the grave with her but, in the end, she’d given him so much else. If Lord Deveril had claimed the child, and intended to raise her, he might very well be willing to pay for the privilege. For the years of Devil’s exile, all he’d heard from Alice had been about how devoted her brother was and how much things would change once he returned to England. But Alaric had grown impatient waiting for just such a day, though it seemed that Alice had been correct all along. Her exalted brother had sought her out and tried to set right the wrongs perpetrated by their father. Too little and too late.
Alaric needed funds and needed them quickly. He’d run out of credit with any reputable sources and had resorted to moneylenders with decidedly murkier principles. They’d st
aked him for a game that he shouldn’t have been able to lose. His opponents had been green boys with fat pockets and dim wits. But then he had turned up—Viscount Seaburn. The man was a notorious sharp and better at cheating than Alaric was. He’d been forced to lose, lest he be called out. It was a habit that Seaburn had developed, to openly challenge those who he deemed were taking advantage of those too stupid to know better. Regardless, it was attention he could ill afford. The last thing he needed was to have more questions asked about who he was or where he’d come from, or he’d have more to worry about than a duel or moneylenders. If his true origins were uncovered, it’d be the hangman he faced.
“Maybe the brat will finally be useful,” he muttered under his breath as he made his way out of the sad shambles of the small rooming house in Spitalfields. Indeed, his bastard might finally manage to earn a small sliver of his affection.
“Would be better what you ’ad died stead of sweet Alice!” Mrs. Blye called out from behind her closed door.
A grin split Alaric’s mouth, showing slightly crooked teeth. It was the only flaw in his too handsome face but it had never hindered his ability to seduce and sway women to his cause. Alice had been proof of that. Beautiful, wealthy, innocent, and his for the taking with nothing more than a smile and a few flirtatious whispers. He hadn’t counted on her father disowning his only daughter, especially after the son had been exiled to India in disgrace. Alice had been his way out, his way up. And it had ended in disaster thanks to her blowhard of a father. Poisoning her had been his only out in the end. She’d proved stubborn in her unwillingness to set aside their sham of a marriage and give him the freedom to pursue a wealthy bride. But if the brother had cared enough to take their little bastard out of the slums, he might be willing to pay Alaric a bit to keep her there. Then there would be no need of leg-shackling himself to a horse-faced heiress just to live the life he deserved, a life that should have been his by right.
A Rogue to Remember Page 4