Rogue's Lady

by Robyn Carr

  “I suppose so, but Tyson is not worried. He also has strong allies. I’m afraid I must disappoint you, Aunt. We will remain.”

  Elizabeth placed her cup and saucer on the table before her. “I had not intended to be so blunt as this, my dear, but I’m afraid it is your presence in London that has become a problem. My daughter is soon to be betrothed to Andrew Shelby.”

  “Faye?’ Vieve questioned, amazed.

  “Yes, Faye. I think their marriage would begin on more solid ground if you would simply move on to your new home with your new husband. And there is no question but that the captain would be better off.”

  “Aunt, I assure you, I have no interest whatsoever in Andrew Shelby. I wish Faye well.”

  “Nonetheless, there was a good deal of talk about your passionate romance with the young man. Such gossip does not do well on a young bride...and Faye is young.”

  Vieve sighed heavily. “It is all useless gossip, Aunt Elizabeth, and surely Faye can rise above it if she loves Andrew. But I think you should reconsider, for her sake. Andrew is not always the most chivalrous.”

  “Faye must be the judge of that. However, it is most difficult for her to find happiness under the weight of your lingering presence and Andrew’s fascination with you.”

  “Andrew. But...” Vieve stopped suddenly. She frowned. “Aunt Elizabeth, does Andrew resist a betrothal with Faye because of me?”

  Elizabeth looked away briefly. “Your romance with him was far too obvious, it has not been long past, and it is understandable that it is his pride, not his true feelings, that distract him from making an honest proposal for my daughter. And my daughter should be granted the decency of a completely new start with her betrothed.”

  “How does my residence in London hinder that?”

  “It is possible, my dear, that Andrew still holds some hope on your situation...changing.”

  “It cannot change.”

  “Not if you go to Virginia...but if you stay here? Who knows what misfortune may befall your husband. He is unwelcome here. The smallest problem could send him the route of that American emissary.”

  “Do you threaten, Aunt? Is there something you should tell me?”

  Elizabeth rose, her lips pinched and her eyes narrow. “I have said what I came to say. You have tossed Andrew aside and wed the Yankee. Do this for Faye. Leave England with him as soon as possible so that she can be wed. I have never asked a thing of you or your family but this. Please.”

  Vieve stood to face her aunt, her insides trembling nervously. “Aunt, hear me, please. If Andrew resists marriage with Faye because of me, he is a fool, for I hold no feeling for him. And I think it would be unwise to tie your daughter to him in marriage. Here or gone, I cannot come between them if they care for each other, and if Andrew does not love Faye, please do not hurt her further by forcing him to wed her.”

  “You could rectify the problem,” Elizabeth said impatiently. “You have your rich husband. Leave with him, that the rest of us might get on with our lives.”

  “I will go or stay, as Tyson wills it, Aunt.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth twisted in a sarcastic sneer. “Tis a pity, Vieve, that you are so spoiled. One day you will regret your lack of compassion.”

  Elizabeth moved away from Vieve and, without saying good-bye, quickly left the room. Vieve sank again to the settee, completely confused by what had just happened.

  Only a moment had passed when Tyson entered the drawing room, still wearing his cloak. “What was she doing here?” he asked.

  Vieve looked up at him, her brow wrinkled in bewilderment. “She came here to urge me to leave England with you as soon as possible. She said that Faye is to wed Andrew and my presence is an interference. I think, Tyson, that Andrew resists a betrothal with Faye...because of me.”

  “Have you seen Andrew?”

  “Not once. Nor have I seen any member of the Latimer family before today. She said that you must surely be in danger in England and for safety’s sake should consider returning to America. It was almost a threat.”

  “Or a warning.”

  “Could Elizabeth possibly know what her husband is doing? Or what he plans to do?”

  “Perhaps, but more important, did she say anything to indicate that Charles knows I am onto him?”

  Vieve thought for a moment. “No, but she did say that if it is a matter of money that delays our departure, Charles hungers for an investment in my father’s shipping trade and probably would come forth with money. Does that mean what I think it does? That he would take your shares and finally own my father?”

  “Certainly. He already controls most of the country property. Lord Ridgley’s only advantage has lately come with my investment... which has foiled Charles.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Ah,” Tyson said, smiling shrewdly. “Well, we wouldn’t want Charles to be disappointed. Perhaps something can be worked out after all.”

  As a part of the Christmas celebration in London, King George had extended invitations for many formal events at Windsor. The English noble, visiting aristocrat, gentry, and squire were given royal requests to attend various events. The earl of Lemington made a personal invitation to Captain and Madam Gervais to accompany him to an evening ball held three days before Christmas.

  Vieve had never answered a royal summons. Her father had attended a few, and she might have been presented formally had her mother lived. This was the first such event for her, and she was giddy with excitement. Although she knew the limitations of a party with so many guests, she hoped to view the royal couple from afar, or see the faces of some well-known members of Parliament.

  She troubled over the selection of a gown, cautiously examined the minor jewels that her mother had left her, and forced poor Harriet to rearrange her coiffure three times. Her maid, sighing tiredly at this high pitch of excitement, tried to comply, unaware that Vieve’s determination to look exactly right had little to do with how she might appear to those attending nobles.

  It was Tyson’s gaze she meant to satisfy.

  When he told her about the invitation, he had imparted that they should be quiet guests at Windsor. The earl had subtly instructed it would be best to downplay his American roots.

  “There are those who would happily see me hang for being so presumptuous as to marry an Englishwoman of blooded name,” he said. “In fact, it strikes me that a rich American is in more jeopardy than a poor one.”

  “But I think you need not fear all the English alike,” she said.

  “I’d like to think that it is wisdom in those I trust, rather than fear of any of them.”

  “Will I face the same in Virginia? Must I ever worry that I will be judged for my ancestry rather than myself?”

  “If you arrived without the close guard of your jealous and possessive husband, you would ruin the very existence of every unmarried women in Virginia...rest assured.”

  Vieve doubted her fairness was so great, but she was wholly satisfied that Tyson felt that way. She found him to be the most handsome man in the world and frequently wondered how he had avoided marriage for so long. “I don’t know how you escaped the women who came before me, but thank heaven you did.”

  The gown she chose for the ball was a rare lavender color, a shining satin that glistened in the candlelight. A diamond pendant that had been her mother’s sparkled above her low décolletage, and small diamond earbobs twinkled on her ears. A few feathers that matched her gown were woven into her hair. Her cape, lined with ermine, was sewn of the same lavender cloth.

  She approved her appearance and then waited anxiously for Tyson’s appraisal. When he came to her room, he stood for a long moment in the doorway, looking at her. When his eyes met hers and lingered there, burning in their intensity, Harriet slowly withdrew from the room and gently closed the door.

  It would always be as it had been that day at Chappington, when he had returned to her father with his money to invest. The way he had looked at her then had bran
ded her as his forever. She felt her pulse race and her breath quicken.

  “I have half a mind not to share you with all the other men in attendance, but you have never been to a royal affair and neither have I.”

  “I have never wanted for royal parties. I would be a willing prisoner of your selfish whims.”

  He laughed softly. “It is a tempting thought, but then I would have to make an excuse to this noble cousin. He is stuffy and staunch. He would not understand.”

  “You could complain that you’d fallen ill,” she attempted.

  He frowned as if considering that option. Finally, he sighed and took her arm. “Come, petite, we go as much on your father’s business as our own.”

  As he moved away from her to pick up her cape, it took great willpower not to dispense with the ball and enjoy a fire in their bedchamber...alone. When he placed her wrap about her shoulders, she was possessed of another feeling, and she turned abruptly, placing a hand on his chest. “Tyson, perhaps we should not go. All the English and you...”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know...a feeling...” She shuddered. “If anything happened to you...”

  “Your aunt has frightened you unnecessarily, Vieve. I have no one to worry about but Charles Latimer. And I’m certain I can handle him.”

  “But Tyson, what if he tries to hurt you?”

  “You needn’t be afraid. I have no intention of leaving you a widow.”

  She went with him to the coach, quieting her further arguments. Bevis stood at the coach door, wiggling with discomfort in his formal clothes. He smiled when he saw her, the wide, dark gap from a missing tooth appearing as a tunnel into his mouth. “Aye, mum, it’s fine ye’re lookin’. Mighty fine indeed,” he said with a bobbing motion.

  “You look very fine yourself, Bevis,” she said. But he only hung his head as if disgruntled by the necessity to dress so.

  As she stepped into her coach she heard him mumbling behind her. “Blasted peacock feathers... look like a whore, I do.”

  The ride was a long one, and Vieve remained uncomfortable. She couldn’t name the fear that gnawed at her, but some danger seemed to loom. She hoped it would be a short evening.

  Once they arrived there was such commotion that the feeling of dread passed and her excitement was renewed. She had never seen so many people pressed into the ballroom, moving in and out of hallways and alcoves. She waited with Tyson in the gallery for nearly an hour to get inside. All around them stood gentry and aristocrats wearing their finest, exuberant with the prospect of their own invitations, feeling their personal importance with high spirits.

  She could not have seen how they were regarded, for she was too awed by the glamour all around her. Since they spied no acquaintances, Tyson took her to dance, and while that event was shared by many, there were whispers among the spectators as they moved together and apart, bowing, bending, and swaying.

  Vieve’s pale beauty against Tyson’s wicked darkness perked romantic conjecture as they danced. His eyes held hers firmly, his steps graceful though he was a large, muscular man. “Who are they?” people speculated. Was the woman a visiting princess? The man a little-known aristocrat, exiled from his homeland? They appeared deeply in love, for they were so lost in each other that even the murmuring around them did not distract them. Their rich clothing, jewels, manners, and attraction to each other sparked a few fantasies. Matrons sighed with hope that their daughters would do as well; widows hoped for a similarly rich beauty for their sons. They appeared handsome, wealthy, and in love. There was nothing more to which one could aspire.

  When the dance ended, Lord Moresay approached. “I didn’t see you come in, but then among so many, how could I? I noticed you at the dance. I’m glad you’ve come. You’ve given everyone much to talk about.”

  Lord Moresay took them the round of a few introductions. Vieve watched her husband bow, kiss ladies’ hands, and engage in passing conversation. He did as well as any noble, gently reared. She had known so little of colonials when they had first met, having heard that all were rugged frontiersmen, clods, bereft of any social graces. Why else would they rebuke control of their sovereign in rebellion? Even now, these Americans had formed a strong alliance with France. But their land was rich with crops that England could not provide for herself, and their treatment of them was cautious, if nebulous. The British in high places were learning to be polite to these despised revolutionaries.

  “I suspect you will see many familiar faces tonight,” Tyson quietly warned her. “Andrew among them.”

  “Do you worry that I have some soft place in my heart for Andrew Shelby?” she asked.

  “No, my love. But be wary. Do not be fooled by his inconsolable smile or his broken heart.”

  It was shortly thereafter that she clutched Tyson’s arm as she spied Andrew across the room. Her breath caught in her throat. Her past suitor looked haggard, tired. Although the night was young, he had had too much to drink and his courtly swagger was more of a drunken limp. He seemed to have fallen yet farther from his aristocratic pedestal. She felt as though she had never known him. She was torn with both relief that she had somehow escaped marriage to such a man and pity for his deterioration.

  “Tyson,” she whispered. “Andrew is over there. Look at him.”

  “I have already placed him,” Tyson said irritably. “And the Latimer family is here in full regiment.”

  “Where?”

  Vieve followed her husband’s gaze and saw that Charles and Elizabeth stood in conversation with another couple. Nearby, Beth waited impatiently for any young man to approach, and Faye’s eyes were lingering forlornly on Andrew. Robert leaned against a pillar not far from the rest of the family, caught in conversation with a young woman.

  “Is Robert so much like his father?” Tyson inquired. “They share those strong Latimer looks, but Robert appears bored by his father’s ambition. He pays little attention.”

  “I’m ashamed to say that I hardly know them. The fact is that when they were visiting, my mother begged me to be gracious and polite.” She shrugged off the memory. “It always seemed as though we shared a mutual dislike, and so we were only together at our parents’ insistence.” As to the strong Latimer looks, all three children were big, like Charles, and while it might be an asset for Robert, the girls had suffered, for they were large, gawky, and homely. The features that made a man handsome were not always well placed on a young woman. “Tyson, look at Faye. I think that Andrew has hurt her.”

  “And how would that happen, Vieve?” Tyson asked, frowning. “Andrew spent the majority of his time prancing after you.”

  “She has always been jealous of me,” Vieve said.

  “How much time did Andrew spend with the Latimer family?”

  “I have no idea. Until the night that Uncle Charles came to Chappington on Andrew’s behalf, I thought they were only slightly acquainted.”

  “And that was only four months ago. It is possible that Andrew and Charles have been more closely associated than we realized. How else would Faye become so involved with him?”

  Tyson stared at Charles Latimer for a long spell, and then, with a sigh, he pulled his wife with him toward Lord and Lady Moresay. Tyson and the earl of Lemington both looked in the direction of the Latimers and wordlessly nodded in agreement over some conspiratorial plan. Then they moved as a foursome toward Charles and Elizabeth. Not wishing to be obvious, they paused to speak briefly to acquaintances of the earl’s, but finally stood before Charles Latimer.

  “Good evening, Mr. Latimer,” Tyson said amiably. “I thought to take this opportunity to introduce you to relatives of mine. Lord and Lady Moresay, the earl and countess of Lemington, these are my wife’s uncle and aunt, Charles and Elizabeth Latimer.”

  Charles’s eyes rounded slightly, but he heeled and bowed as expected. Elizabeth sank into the required curtsy and extended her hand to the earl. “Good to make your acquaintance, my lord,” Charles said. “I was not aware that the c
aptain had noble influence here.”

  “Had I failed to mention that?” Tyson asked.

  “I am not of much influence,” the earl scoffed. “I’m afraid that my importance is very slight. Lemington is not such a large state, and I serve only a humble position for the crown.”

  “I doubt that, my lord,” Charles said, his smile gleaming. “I have heard nothing but good about Lemington.”

  “It is good enough for my family,” the earl replied with humility. “But we spend little enough time there, since my position in London requires me most often. I work in His Majesty’s courts.”

  Vieve did not miss the flaring of her uncle’s eyes in surprise. “The courts?” Elizabeth asked. “That must be very interesting.”

  “I assure you, it is quite dull. I am forever trying to untangle disputes over property or theft or other such confusion.”

  “It mustn’t be too difficult to establish whether a man has stolen, my lord,” Charles said like a man of experience. “I’ve had many of my own people steal from me, and if they have the article that was missing, it…”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have the luxury of dealing with the common criminal, for I am not a magistrate, but appointed to the Court of High Commission. I must determine due course for the crown, so my work is limited to property, marriage, inheritance, and title. It is extremely dull. There has never been a second son that didn’t think he was slighted somehow.”

  “My goodness, such an important role,” Elizabeth said with a sudden surge of energy. “And how fortunate for our niece.”

  “Fortunate?”

  “Oh, yes, my lord. I have been so concerned. While it is clear their marriage was ordained by the angels, I was terribly worried that Captain Gervais’s long presence in this country might hinder him in some way. Though we would put such hostile notions aside, there are still those who dislike Americans. I am most relieved that someone of power is close at hand for support.”

  Elizabeth pulled Vieve’s hand into both of hers. Vieve was stunned by the sweet smile, yet the hard set of her aunt’s eyes. “How very nice for you, my dear Vieve.”