Different Tides

by Janet Woods

  Zachariah shook his head and placed a purse on the desk. ‘If I did my head count at the social accurately, this should cover my donation. The rest we will leave up to you. I would suggest that you ask your son, Basil, to witness it. It will act as a deterrent if he’s ever faced with such temptation from a plausible confidence trickster.’

  ‘When I think of what could have happened, and what it would have cost me and my family in goodwill, I am forever in your debt, sir.’

  ‘Now, we must go, John.’

  When they were on the road, John said, ‘Do you think Sheridan might get it into his head to pay a visit to Martingale House on his way out of town? We have left the ladies without protection.’

  ‘I expect Sheridan to take the stagecoach, but I don’t think he’s finished with us entirely. Mr Bolton is aware of the situation. Sheridan wouldn’t be foolish enough to enter my house and go after the women and children, since he has nothing to gain from it. If he’s wise he’ll leave town, as he intended to.’

  ‘You must be careful, Zach. There’s a sense of purpose about that man, and he seems to be holding a grudge against you.’

  ‘I can’t think why. I’d never set eyes on him before he stepped off the ship.’ He changed the subject. ‘What should we do about Miss Tate? She’s taking her quest to find a wealthy husband a little too far. My God! How did she come up with such an amount of money for a legacy? If that circulates, men will soon be queuing up at your door.’

  ‘It could be her intention that by the time they learn the truth they are incurably in love with her. Alexandra is exceedingly fair.’

  ‘And she knows it. She can’t pass a mirror without inspecting herself from all angles. And she’s an accomplished but obvious flirt. She knows how to use her femininity to her advantage.’

  Zachariah sighed. ‘I caught Clementine copying her … she fluttered her eyelashes at me.’

  ‘To any effect?’

  ‘Coming from Clementine the gesture was a complete disaster. I teased her and she became flustered.’

  The thought brought a smile to John’s lips. ‘Clementine is a sweet young woman but she can’t compete with Alexandra, who, apart from her conceit, seems to be an accomplished liar, wouldn’t you say? Her gossip is having an effect, and Clemmie is forced to bear the backlash from it.

  ‘Would you like me – or Julia perhaps – to talk to her about her behaviour?’

  ‘No, John, I won’t inflict her on you, since she’s my guest. Besides, it would embarrass her. I’ll talk to her myself.’

  ‘You’re not getting fond of her, are you?’

  ‘I have no more than the normal thoughts in passing that any man would have towards a beautiful woman, and I can control that. Alexandra is not the type of woman I admire.’

  ‘What is your type?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘I like a woman who can laugh at both me and themselves and isn’t afraid to argue, even though her argument may not be logical.’ He made a shape in the air. ‘If she’s neat of figure then all the better. I like a pert walk too, and hair that flies in the wind and is threaded with fire in the sunlight and ashes in the glow of the moon. I prefer brown eyes to blue and a name that reminds me of the scent of flowers carried on the wind.’

  ‘I had never thought you to be so poetical, Zach.’

  ‘Neither have I.’

  ‘You have just described Clementine. Have you fallen in love with her by any chance?’

  He opened his eyes, pondering the thought, the image of her fading but his smile still in place. ‘Perhaps we should talk about her another day, because the regard I feel for her grows when I’m in her presence. I also feel the need for caution in case I can’t trust what I feel. I’ve never had much practice at loving people.’

  ‘It’s rather that you didn’t learn how to love when you were a child because when you reached out to people they rebuffed you. If you feel the need for me to counsel you on marriage, my friend, you know where I am.’

  ‘Who better, when you have Julia for a wife.’

  A week later, after dinner, Zachariah asked Alexandra to join him in his study. The rose-pink gown she wore enhanced her small waist and the swell of her breast. Her hair was swept up into a glossy knot and her face was a perfect oval upon which her equally perfect features were placed. It seemed odd that she didn’t really attract him. In fact, sometimes she repelled him.

  With her current hairstyle, Alexandra had never looked more like Gabe’s wife. It was practically a copy, with false loops and a thin band across the forehead. As Evan had said, and rather peevishly, ‘The whole outfit is suitable for a social dinner, but rather ostentatious for a country dinner at home.’

  Obviously, the new maid knew her job.

  Alexandra gazed around the room and made a face. ‘I understand Clementine is going to refurbish this room. She’s looking forward to it and discusses wallpaper constantly.’

  ‘She needs something to occupy her mind besides the children.’

  Her eyes engaged his. ‘You’re vexed with me over something, aren’t you? When my foster father was displeased with me he used to place me in a chair then sit on his desk and tower over me, just like you are doing. I found it to be intimidating.’

  He moved, placing the desk between them. ‘Is that better?’

  ‘Thank you. Why am I here; have you received news of the legacy?’

  He shook his head. ‘I want to talk to you about your behaviour, Alexandra. I understand you’ve gossiped with the local women about my household, and in particular about an imaginary relationship between Clementine and myself. This has done her reputation considerable damage.’

  ‘Oh, that … I didn’t start that rumour and neither did I agree with it when it was raised. Speculation was going on long before I arrived, I believe, and I was unaware of what was true and what was not.’

  ‘I see. Then I hope you will accept my apology.’

  ‘Of course I will, Zachariah.’ She smiled at him. ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘Yes there is … I thought we might talk a little about your mother. I imagine you’d like to know who she is.’

  ‘Oh … I wondered when you’d get round to it. I knew from the beginning that your family was related in my birth somewhere. After all, why else would you have bothered with me? I’ve seen the picture of my mother in the dining room, of course. I wish you had told me she was your brother’s wife when I went rattling on about my mother being a countess. We are very much alike and you must have laughed when I was bragging about her.’

  ‘Yes … you are alike. It came as a shock to discover … Alice was only fifteen you see, little more than a child. I doubt if my brother knew about you, or her previous, hasty marriage to Howard Morris. Her family would have kept it covered up, lest it spoiled her chance of a good marriage. Although you have the right to know, I would not like this to become common knowledge.’

  ‘People who knew Lady Alicia have already noticed the similarity. The village is a hive of gossip. I know everything there is to know about you, Zachariah, right down to the witch’s caul over your head when you were born.’

  ‘Witch’s caul? Good grief!’

  ‘The superstitious saw it as a sign that you belonged to the devil.’

  Zachariah began to laugh. ‘Do I look as though I do? I thought you’d have more intelligence than to believe such nonsense.’

  ‘You do realize that, whether I get the legacy or not, this makes me half-brother and sister to the children. It will be wonderful to have family to visit.’

  Zachariah’s heart sank as he lied, ‘Yes … it will be.’ He reminded himself that Alexandra was a young woman who needed family support to fall back on. He must learn to like her, and he must make himself available if he was needed.

  He rose and held out a hand to assist her from the chair, guided her to the door and opened it. ‘Welcome to the Fleet family, Alexandra.’

  ‘Thank you, Zachariah; it has taken you a long time to decide to
accept me. You’ll be asking me to walk down the aisle with you soon, and when you do I’ll probably accept.’

  ‘If I were you I’d remove my name from your list of eligible men, since that will not happen, Alexandra.’

  Her husky chuckle tickled his eardrum. To his surprise she leaned into his body and kissed him on the mouth.

  He took a step backwards and over her shoulder he saw Clementine on the bottom step of the staircase. Her eyes widened as she gazed from one to another, as if mortified by embarrassment at catching that moment.

  ‘Oh … I’m so sorry.’

  Alexandra smiled and as she sailed past Clementine she threw over her shoulder at her, ‘That’s what comes from listening at keyholes.’

  ‘I wasn’t … I was on my way back from the kitchen.’

  Evan was halfway down the stairs, carrying his engagement calendar. He must have seen what went on.

  When an obviously discomfited Clementine turned to hurry across the hall and up the stairs, Zachariah swore.

  Alexandra’s laughter floated back to him.

  ‘You seem to be having women trouble,’ Evan said, closing the door behind himself.

  ‘Miss Tate is a flirt, but I didn’t expect her to be so bold. It was unfortunate that Clemmie was in a position to see it.’

  ‘I imagine Miss Tate heard the stair squeak, and made sure Miss Clemmie was in a position to do so.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Why do women do anything? Spring has arrived and she’s got an itch that needs scratching, so she’s baiting her little honey trap and running on instinct. You’re a better catch than most, Zachariah. Watch out.’

  ‘She needs to be redirected, since the woman doesn’t attract me in any way and I don’t want to have to be blunt with her.’

  ‘She can be an enchanting little minx, and she has her eyes set firmly on going up in the world. Your indifference represents a challenge to her.’

  ‘I’m not about to change my attitude, since I have no interest in her. Any challenge she thinks I represent is entirely in her imagination. You’d better guard my back until she transfers her affections elsewhere, Evan.’

  Evan grinned. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

  Seventeen

  Alexandra’s social event was arranged for the middle of March. Invitations had been sent out, including one to Roland Elliot and his mother.

  Not that Alexandra expected them to attend, but she wanted him to know how well she was doing for herself. To tell the truth she missed him, and missed the sense of danger she felt when she was around him, for he’d never made any bones about the attraction she presented for him.

  Unfortunately, Basil Cheeves had accepted the invitation, and she thought he intended to propose marriage. It had only been a game on her part, something to make Zachariah Fleet jealous. The thought of being married to Basil was nauseating, and she wished she hadn’t encouraged him in the first place. He couldn’t keep his podgy hands to himself and he didn’t have a brain in his head.

  In an attempt to put him off she’d said to his father, ‘I’m given to understand my legacy is very small … and not as I’d imagined.’

  To that Cheeves had smiled, as though he thought she was being modest. ‘Sometimes lack of dowry has no significance as a barrier to true love. I want to see him settled and provide me with a houseful of grandchildren.’

  How absolutely ghastly that visit had turned out to be.

  Almost everybody local had declared an intention to attend her social. The servants had been in a tizzy, until Alexandra had sought permission to take over the arrangements, and had asked Evan to help her. She liked Zachariah’s manservant. He had a sardonic sense of humour that made her laugh.

  Within days they had a buffet menu, and instructions for decoration. Evan had gone into the domestic agency, to arrange for a chef to supervise the food.

  ‘The occupants of Martingale House haven’t entertained since the departure of the former baronet, God rest his soul,’ Mrs Cheeves had declared piously, while clasping her invitation card to her bosom.

  What was more, another, juicier rumour was circulating that Mr Fleet was in line to be honoured by the King for his many philanthropic works in the form of title and estate. Had Alexandra heard anything?

  ‘Indeed not, Mr Cheeves. Mr Fleet does not bray about his achievements, but plays his cards close to his chest.’

  Cheeves had smiled at her. ‘Indeed he does. Fleet is as sound a man as anyone could wish to meet … and a far cry from the man his brother had been. Mr Fleet is just the type of man the district needs.’

  Alexandra had then overheard Cheeves instruct his wife to accept the pert little creature who looked after the children.

  ‘It would be better to keep on Fleet’s good side. You don’t have to invite the governess to take tea with you, but at least acknowledge her without all the bitchery that goes on amongst your friends. From the hints Miss Tate has dropped, Miss Morris might be his relative from the wrong side of the blanket. No wonder he was annoyed and unfriendly with us … though it was kind of him to overlook the insult and do us such a great favour after the snub we dealt her.’

  Alexandra managed to prise out the nature of the favour from Mrs Cheeves. George Sheridan again! He seemed to haunt Zachariah. But why?

  ‘No more gossip now, dear,’ Cheeves chided in passing to his wife. ‘Our friends will look for you to set a good example in the matter.’ As if the tittle-tattling old crow would take any notice. Gossip was her life-blood, and the more malicious the better.

  Now there was an interesting line of thought to follow. Alexandra grinned at her reflection in the mirror. A hint here and a stir with a stick there, and the collective ant’s nest of women in the district would see Clementine as respectable again – well, almost. Illegitimacy was rarely overlooked and the sins of the father were almost always attributed to the child. Though she had obviously inherited her mother’s sin along with it.

  By that time Alexandra hoped to have received the legacy and be gone, unless the esteemed Mr Fleet proposed to her – though not much chance of that now he was going to get a proper title. The thought awed her.

  A sobering thought hit her like a clod of mud thrown up from a donkey’s hoof. What if she turned out to be a penniless bastard herself? If that were the case she would have to rely on her looks to see her through with regards to Basil.

  She regarded her face from every angle. She’d used a little artifice, the faintest blush of rouge on her cheeks and her lips. But was that curl a little loose? Alexandra pulled her hair arrangement apart and grumbled, ‘I thought you were an experienced lady’s maid, Ellen. Arrange it again, and this time make sure no ends are sticking out and that curl is secure.’

  ‘I also have Miss Morris and Mrs Beck to attend to.’

  ‘The social is in my honour, not theirs, and I want to be perfect. Do get on with it.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Tate.’

  A few minutes later, Evan knocked at the door. ‘Ellen … Mrs Beck is waiting for you.’

  Alexandra traded on his position in the house and their recent friendly cooperation. ‘Oh, it’s you, Evan. Thank goodness. Ellen hasn’t finished my hair yet. She’s so slow.’

  The maid’s lips tightened. ‘I’ve arranged it once, but Miss Tate was dissatisfied with it and thought it was too loose. I was told to style it all over again. No wonder I’m late.’

  ‘I’ll see to Miss Tate. You go and attend Mrs Beck.’

  As soon as Ellen had gone, Evan brushed the remains of her hairstyle out, and used the curling tongs to create a froth of curls. He drew them to the back of her head and secured them with the concoction of beads and ribbons that were laid ready on the dressing table.

  She liked him, and they were easy and relaxed with each other. ‘You’re a genius, Evan.’

  ‘I’m aware of my skills, Alexandra. The dress is beautiful and it shows off your figure. You should rouge your breasts a little, since such little gestures evoke desi
re in a man.’ He picked up the small pot of rouge she’d bought from a shop in Dorchester. ‘May I?’

  She gazed at his reflection in the glass. He was bending over her shoulder, a slightly olive-skinned man of medium height, who was firmly muscled and dark-eyed. Every breath that expelled from his mouth drifted warmly across her bare shoulder and the swell of her bosom, sending a shiver to creep across her skin. There was something very attractive about him. She remembered that Evan had once belonged to an acting company and imagined him playing the villain with his lean face.

  Then she remembered him in his Shylock costume and the debacle with the dogs. She laughed. Evan was suited to comedy, and he reminded her a little of Roland.

  Unbidden, she recalled the touch of Roland Elliot’s hands, his long artistic fingers painting her skin, as gentle and sensual as the wings of a butterfly. There was something about a creative man that drew her, and there was an irresistible desire inside her to be handled. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his body as it touched against hers, and remembering the painting Roland had shown her. She wondered if her breasts now adorned the sitter. How wanton the girl had looked with her wild hair and the brazen invitation in her pose.

  He was arranging little curls about her ears. ‘You need a man, Alexandra.’

  Her eyes flew open and she gave a little giggle and her arm went to her thigh and she pressed against him. ‘I daren’t ruin myself.’

  He ran a finger around her jawline. ‘There are ways and means, as well you know it. You might still be intact, my dear, but you’re no innocent. A little sexual foreplay wouldn’t go amiss … a kiss or two. It will make you sparkle and give you something to look forward to. Evan turned the key in the lock and drew up a chair.

  ‘I haven’t agreed.’

  ‘You’ve been teasing me for the past week, so of course you’ve agreed.’ His arms slid round her from behind and his fingers brushed over the swell of her breast through the cloth. He nibbled the lobe of her ear and her nipples pushed against the fabric of her bodice. He loosened the laces and her breasts fell free. ‘I can offer you ease and enjoyment, while still leaving you intact. Close your eyes.’