“Your new medicine from the doctor, sir.” She bobbed down in a curtsy, handing him the glass, trying to diffuse her tension. Still watching her carefully, he took it and tilted the entire contents down his throat.
His long mouth curled at the corners in a smile. “Another memory returned. I much prefer brandy to milk.”
She answered his lazy smile with one of her own as she slipped down into the curved chair beside the bed, suddenly more at ease.
“I know you have lost much of your memory. I want to help you regain it.”
Even in the few minutes she had been away from him, pacing the hall, his expressive hooded eyes had grown sharper. He rested that bright gaze steadily on her face.
“Your uncle told me I’m at your home in Hexham. Tell me about the accident. How long have I been here? When did we become betrothed?”
The doctor’s warning rang in her ears as she searched for the right words. “I’m not supposed to tease you with memories. The doctor said they must come naturally.” She evaded his questions. “Would you like to hear about the accident? You were so brave that morning!” Her soft voice gained strength as she realized that in this she could be utterly truthful. “The stable was an inferno, but you were fearless. We would have been unable to save all the horses without your help. You were bringing out the last two colts when the falling beam struck you.”
A furrow worried his smooth brow. “I feel I’m fond of horses. Did they escape unharmed?”
“Oh, yes, thanks to you! Do you remember your stallion?” she asked eagerly. “He is the most marvelous Arabian I’ve ever seen.”
The hooded eyes became mere slits as he considered. “Damn it! Nothing!”
When he lifted his lids she saw the frustration, just as she’d heard it in his voice. Terrified by the white strained line around his long mouth, she desperately searched for a way to reassure him.
“Don’t tax yourself. The memories shall return in time.”
Suddenly inspired, she went quickly to her jewel box and returned to the bed with the heavy crested ring on her palm.
“This is your ring. Does it bring back any memories? Anything at all?”
He took the ring carefully, running his fingertips over the raised crest and feeling the weight of the gold. “It appears to be a fine ring. Too rich for me.” He shot her a rueful look. “But it means nothing. Keep it. It would only be a bother while I work.”
Reaching out he lifted one of her hands, placed the ring on the palm, and curled her fingers over it. “Tomorrow I’ll be up. There is much to do if the stable is to be rebuilt.”
The idea that he would help them further shocked her. “You shall do no such thing! You must rest and regain your strength.”
“I’ll regain my strength faster once I’m on my feet.” He flexed his broad shoulders restlessly, pulling the shirt wide so that she spied a large expanse of smooth, muscled chest. “As your future husband it’s my duty to help you. After all, isn’t this to be our home once we’re wed?”
Unable to utter one more lie, Mary simply nodded, appalled at the path one moment of panic was forcing her down.
“It’s late. Rest now. I shall see you in the morning.”
She fairly bolted from the room, but at the door glanced back to find him watching her with a deep scowl. He didn’t remember her either! Well of course not, why would he? But why did he accept their engagement so readily? Even saying it was one of the few things he did remember? Unless he was truly engaged. That thought pulled her up short. Richard must be engaged to someone. Someone who would be wondering about him, missing him. Opening her clenched fist, she stared down at the gold ring.
She knew what she must do.
“Whatever shall I do?” Lady Arabella Hampton wailed as only she could, and very prettily too, as she paced the Aubusson carpet of the Avalon morning room with such determined steps that the lilac ruffle of her walking gown flipped up, revealing matching kid half boots. “The Duchess of Cumberland’s Grand Ball is tomorrow and Richard hasn’t returned! That beast! The entire ton heard me threaten to cry off. I have been reliably informed that bets are on at White’s I shall do so before midnight! What can I do?”
This last wail was so strident that Wilkens peeped in from the hall. Her Grace, the Duchess of Avalon, was forced to abandon her worries about her restless son Richard and face the problem at hand: Lady Arabella Hampton, his betrothed.
The duchess, a noted bluestocking, rarely, if ever, gave advice. She merely allowed her offspring to follow the path of their true leanings. “Bella, dear, tell me what you wish to do.”
“I wish to go to the Duchess of Cumberland’s Grand Ball!”
Arabella’s flushed face filled her with deep sadness. This choice of Richard’s was so foreign to the path his intellect usually led him down. Even though their families had been friends for generations and once, long ago, a match had been spoken of, Richard had not been forced to follow this course. Did he believe he could take this unformed clay and mold it into a vessel of his choice?
She only wished for Richard what she’d had with his father; what her younger son, Matthew, had with his sweet Serena; and what her impetuous daughter, Cecily, had with her dashing Kendall.
Was there a woman anywhere who could truly capture his elusive regard? The duchess knew that if such a woman existed, she would needs fight through the many layers that made up her complex son, but the prize, if won, would be indeed wonderful.
The petulant girl before her, who had slipped into the pout that made her the darling of the ton, was not the woman for her son. She knew it as surely as she knew that Bella deserved to find her own perfect match.
Realizing that she had been rude by her pensive silence, the duchess smiled. “Bella, I fully appreciate your dilemma. You could of course ask one of your court of admirers to take you in Richard’s place. But, alas, that would only set the tongues wagging anew. No doubt there would be betting at White’s that you had chosen another.”
“So you see, I am undone!” the young girl sobbed in earnest, her eyes filling with angry tears.
The duchess rose to offer comfort just as the doors opened soundlessly.
“Lord Frederick Charlesworth to see you, Your Grace,” Wilkens announced in the deep voice that added importance to every one of his pronouncements.
“How fortuitous,” the duchess sighed, relaxing back onto the green velvet settee. “You will attend the ball with Lord Charlesworth. He’s my sweet Serena’s cousin. Practically a member of the Avalon family. It would be most natural for Charlesworth to be Avalon’s envoy in his absence.”
She saw the idea click into place in Arabella’s eyes even before Frederick strolled into the room.
The change in his appearance still amazed the duchess even after nearly eighteen months. He had been in Brussels with his doting mama during the war, a dandy of such alarming proportions he’d been a laughingstock. Richard had reported that Frederick had escorted Serena to the battlefield to find her husband Matthew when no one else would, and he’d returned a changed man.
She’d been as shocked as the rest of the ton when Richard, whose every protegé became the darling of society, chose to bring Frederick into fashion. It just showed another side of her older son, that he had taken Charlesworth under his wing, without mockery or his usual sarcastic boredom, and had helped him slowly emerge into the man who stood before her: a kind-hearted young man, with soft brown hair brushed in a style all his own that framed a face dominated by huge owl eyes. But, complemented by the confident smile that he now wore easily, the enormous features appeared poetically appealing.
“Charlesworth, we were just speaking of you.”
Bending over her hand, he blinked at her words, somewhat taken aback.
“Lady Arabella and I are hoping you will do us a great service.”
“For two such lovely ladies, anything!” he declared with easy gallantry.
“We wish you to be Richard’s envoy and escort Lady Arabella to the Duchess of Cumberland’s Grand Ball tomorrow.”
For just an instant the owl eyes stretched alarmedly, but a moment later they settled, with appealing crinkles at the corners. “With great pleasure.” He made a very pretty bow in Bella’s direction.
“Good,” Arabella retorted with another of her pouts. “I shall look forward to it, sir.” With a toss of her head she swept out of the room.
The duchess met Charlesworth’s eyes, and they both smiled in agreement.
“Old Long’s really in for it when he returns,” Frederick laughed, using Richard’s childhood nickname. “Have you heard from him, Your Grace? London’s a dull place without him.”
The niggling worry returned. It was unlike Richard to be so careless. Usually he kept her well-informed of his whereabouts or, at least, one of his servants could always locate him. But not even Crowley, who she knew was waiting impatiently in Edinburgh, knew of Richard’s whereabouts.
It was as if her son had simply disappeared.
Chapter 3
From the sewing room window Mary watched the dawn slide over her land, as it slowly turned the spring green grass emerald, banishing the shadows from the makeshift lean-to for the horses, before it finally burst into the yard.
The dull thud of the back door closing behind her uncle roused her fully. There was much to be done this beautiful day.
In three days, Ian and two men he’d hired from the village already had the main supports up and the roof nearly complete on the new stable. At least now they could bed the horses down under shelter to protect them from any sudden rains.
So her uncle could have no excuse for rejecting the plan she’d agonized over at night, tossing and twisting on her narrow cot in the cozy sewing room. Richard was comfortably ensconced in her bedchamber, and there he would remain until this coil that her foolishness had entangled them in was unwound and all made right. She now knew how that task could be accomplished quickly.
She flew through her toilette, hastily putting on one of her serviceable bombazine dresses. She wound a black ribbon around her heavy hair at the nape to keep it tidy.
Ignoring breakfast, she made her way to where Uncle Ian stood in the stable yard issuing orders to the men up on the roof.
“Uncle Ian, I must speak with you.”
He turned, eyes crinkled by the sun, to smile at her. “Why, Mary my girl, you’re up and about early. Come to see how the new stable be farin’.”
“I can see it’s going wonderfully well. So well that by tomorrow you should be able to leave for London.”
“Now why would I be goin’ to London?” he asked gruffly, folding powerful arms across his chest.
“To take Richard’s ring to my grandfather’s solicitor. Perhaps he can trace the crest and locate Richard’s family.” She held his steady gaze, and for good measure tilted her chin higher. “Surely you can see it is the best way to help him.”
“Come away now.” He led her away from the workers toward the horses, where they could be private. “Aye, I can see you’re fair eaten up with guilt about your lie. And I can see that finding Richard’s family would be just the thing.”
His steely stare dissolved as his eyes softened and his mouth curled up in the kind smile that she’d come to love. There was a remarkable resemblance to her father in his suddenly sweet face, although John Masterton’s hair had been auburn like hers, not the fiery red of Ian’s. Memories of her dear father brought a hot lump into her throat. Swallowing the pain, she reached out, tightly clasping her uncle’s rough, callused hands.
“Please do this. I know it will be for the best.”
Ian took her hands in a strong grip and shook his head. “I can’t be leavin’ the stable half-done. Besides, after the fire and Sir Robert’s visit I’m not for leavin’ you unprotected.”
“She won’t be unprotected, Ian. I’m here.” The sound of Richard’s voice, strong and determined, came from behind her.
She twisted around. The first time she’d seen Richard he’d been a black silhouette wavering through thick gray smoke. Now the sun’s brightness hid his face from her, while it outlined his broad shoulders and his long lean form as he stood with his legs braced apart.
She blinked, shading her eyes as he strolled over, as if he’d just arisen from a restful sleep instead of crawling out of a sickbed. A sickbed he was in because he’d helped her! She’d managed to keep him there, over his protests, for these few days. Now here he was, fully dressed, and she didn’t know quite what to expect.
“Richard, you shouldn’t be up. It’s too soon!”
He slid her a look that brought a flush all the way to her fingertips. “As you can see, I’m fine. Except for a blasted headache, which comes and goes. No doubt the fresh air will help.”
Dismissing her concerns with one glance from those hooded eyes, he turned to her uncle. “If you must be away on business, I can handle whatever arises here.”
Mary didn’t miss the challenge in Richard’s drawl.
Squinting, Ian gave him a measuring look. “Aye, I can see you would. Can you recall ever building a stable, lad?”
Richard shrugged carelessly and led Ian toward the work site, pointing out several improvements that could be made. She watched her uncle’s reactions, surprised by her own readiness to trust this stranger. Then he turned and glanced at her, catching her curious gaze.
“No, I don’t remember ever building a stable. But I feel I’m a quick learner,” he drawled slowly, his words for Ian, but his eyes slowly searching her face.
With an effort that left her breathless, she met the curious intensity burning in his stare and smiled. “Then Uncle Ian can rest easy leaving you in charge.”
“Aye, I reckon I’m for London on the morrow.”
She slipped away as Richard and Ian turned back to work. She found Lottie in the kitchen. Taking a chunk of her bread, Mary toasted it carefully on the end of a long fork, squatting in front of the fireplace as she’d done as a child.
When she told Lottie about Ian’s trip the woman bustled around the room beaming. “You’re such a good girl. You be doing what’s right.”
The kind words did little to appease the load of guilt she carried. She was painfully aware that “good girls” did not tell outrageous lies about being engaged to handsome men of obvious wealth, no matter the provocation. But she was doing all she could to make up for it.
She spent the morning helping Lottie, who decided that every window needed to be cleaned inside and out. It wasn’t hard work, but she experienced a real sense of accomplishment, and it wasn’t so hard to push the guilty burden to the back of her mind.
At noon, Ian and Richard came in for a hasty luncheon of fowl accompanied by two side dishes and a custard with berries. She was pleased to see Richard’s robust appetite. Obviously being up and about was good for him. And yet, the intensity of his dark brown eyes made an odd nervousness tingle along her skin. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly as she lifted a teacup to her lips.
“Mary, are you tired? I put fresh linens on the cot in the sewing room. Why don’t you rest after luncheon,” Lottie urged, her round face narrowing in concern.
“I’m fine, really.” She loved Lottie dearly, but sometimes it was difficult to be surrounded by people who knew one so well and were so … noticing.
“There is much to do before Uncle Ian leaves for London.”
“Why are you sleeping in the sewing room?”
Richard’s husky voice distracted her. The words were barely spoken when she saw knowledge flash into his eyes. “Lottie, are there also fresh linens in the room where I’m staying?” His lazy drawl didn’t reveal what he was thinking, and his eyes
were hooded by those heavy lids.
Lottie responded with a warm chuckle. “My, yes. All fresh and rinsed in heather. You should rest, too, Richard.”
Pushing to his feet, he shook his head. “No. As Mary said, there is much to do.” He waited for Ian to rise from the table. The two men, in perfect charity with one another, left, discussing the work projected for the morrow.
Lottie turned to her with a mock shiver. She wrapped her plump arms across her breasts and smiled so broadly her rosy cheeks looked like ripe apples. “Besides being handsome as sin, he’s a deep one is our Richard.”
Mary wouldn’t agree. If she acknowledged his attractive qualities out loud, she would be lost. He was a veritable wonder—helping rebuild the stable, grooming the horses, being so easy with Lottie and Uncle Ian, and all the while sending her those special glances that tickled along her nerve endings and made her increasingly uneasy.
It was almost as if he belonged here. As if he were truly her betrothed. She couldn’t allow herself to think along those lines, to wish for something that could never be.
Later in the afternoon she carried a basket of tea out into the yard, determined to tell him the truth. He appeared so strong and healthy. Surely the doctor’s fears were unfounded; such a man as Richard would be able to withstand the truth.
She found him asleep, sitting in the tall grass against the large oak behind the cottage. His strong face was dissolved into soft lines of vulnerability, much as it had been during the fearful time she’d nursed him. Gone was the sardonic veneer that slipped naturally over him when he was fully awake and aware.
“He’s a right one,” Ian suddenly whispered beside her. “Quality like you, Mary my girl, or my name’s not Ian Masterton.”
The Duke's Deceit Page 4