A Stolen Heart

by Candace Camp

  “Oh.” Alexandra vaguely remembered a large figure bolting from the carriage.

  “I talked with Murdock last night. He questioned Peggoddy, but he got little information that’s of any use. The man maintained that he had no idea why someone wanted your mother harmed, only that he was hired by an intermediary whom he called Red Bill.”

  “Who is this Red Bill? Perhaps we could find him and talk to him.”

  “Murdock is already searching for him. I’ve hired a Bow Street Runner, as well.”

  “And is he investigating me, as well?” Alexandra asked, brows raised, arms crossed.

  “Why do you say that?” Sebastian hedged.

  “Because I sincerely doubt that you stopped having your agent make inquiries of my man of business.”

  “You’re right,” Sebastian agreed coolly. “I have been investigating you.”

  “Tell me. Did you find out anything to support your accusations?” Alexandra waited, brows raised, arms still crossed. “I know you found out Ward Shipping has dealt with my agent for years and that I have the proper credentials and letters of credit. What about the rest of it? No doubt you’ve been looking for frauds and schemes, people who have swindled innocent victims out of their money.”

  The carefully blank look on Sebastian’s face told Alexandra that she was right. She pressed on. “Have you found anyone I’ve cheated? Any scheme I put over on someone?”

  He shook his head. “No,” he admitted slowly.

  “But obviously you still have your doubts,” Alexandra said scornfully.

  “You are a careful and intelligent woman. I am sure you would not have been obvious or easy to catch in any scheme.”

  “Ah. I see. The lack of evidence merely proves that I am good at swindling people, not that I am innocent. I am sure you have some ingenious explanation for this senseless attack on my mother, too. Some way that my wickedness caused it.”

  Thorpe hesitated, then said, “Perhaps it is someone who wants revenge on you. Someone who wants to get back at you for what you’ve done to him in the past. Something you’ve taken from him or—”

  “Of course,” Alexandra said with a kind of grim satisfaction. “I should have known. It should be obvious—except that I haven’t the sort of narrow, closed mind you have. You decided that I was a villainess, and therefore, everything that happens, you twist to fit that story. Who cares about the facts? Why take into account the fact that during this whole time the only people who have been hurt are me and those close to me? Not the Countess. Not you. Just my mother and me. Ignore the truth—that nothing untoward has ever happened to me in my life until I met you and the Countess. Oh, yes, and ignore the obvious, too, that suddenly someone wants to kill my mother, the only person who could shed light on this whole matter of who I am! Why are you so determined that I am wicked? Why do you hate me so much?”

  “I do not hate you!” Thorpe ground out the words. “I simply am not naïve.” He moved toward her, his words falling like stones, his cold silver eyes boring into hers. “I am not gullible and eager to believe any cock-and-bull story someone tells me in the hopes that I might get some member of my family back, as the Countess is. I am not sweet or gentle—”

  Alexandra snorted inelegantly. “You hardly need to tell me that.”

  “I am well aware of the character of most people, and I look beyond the surface of things. So when a very attractive woman practically forces her way into my house and seizes my attention, I have to wonder why—especially when that woman uses my friendship with her to meet one of my dear friends and feed her a ludicrous story.”

  “I did not feed anyone a story, ludicrous or otherwise!” Alexandra protested. “She is the one who told me the story, not the other way around. I never heard of the Countess until I came here, and I certainly had never heard the story of her family tragedy.”

  “Then why did you engineer a meeting with me?”

  “Lord knows, I wish I had not!” Alexandra retorted. “The truth is no doubt too simple for you. I happened to be in London, and I was interested in your collection.”

  “If you know so little about the Countess, why were you sneaking over to Exmoor House to meet someone in the middle of the night? Why won’t you tell me what you were doing there? How could I possibly think you are innocent of wrongdoing when you had a midnight rendezvous at Exmoor House?”

  “You want to know why I was there?” Alexandra cried, goaded beyond endurance by his attitude. “And why I was reluctant to reveal it to a virtual stranger? Well, I’ll tell you. I went there because my mother knocked her keeper over the head and took a hackney to Exmoor House. There! Now you know. My mother is not right in the head. She drinks secretly, and she falls into strange moods, and she keeps a little box with her at all times, stroking it and clutching it—and in that box is the locket I showed the Countess. She will not answer my questions, merely retreats into her strange silence. That night, when she escaped the house and I pursued her to Exmoor House, she did not even know me. She called me Simone, just as the Countess did. I have not gotten a coherent word from her since. That is why I did not tell you my reason for going to Exmoor House. Foolishly, I wanted to keep you from thinking badly of my mother. I did not want you to realize that the blood of madness runs through my veins!”

  Alexandra stopped, panting with fury, and for a long moment she and Thorpe stared at each other in shocked silence. Then she made a noise and turned away. “I think it’s time you took me home.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE RIDE HOME WAS AN AWKWARD ONE. Neither Alexandra nor Thorpe spoke, except for the merest necessities. Alexandra felt only like crying, and she had no idea what Thorpe was feeling. He looked determinedly grim. She knew that whatever he might once have felt for her was dead. His distrust and contempt had been bad enough, but now that he knew the truth about her mother, Alexandra was sure he must be thoroughly repulsed. Mad people were locked away in wretched asylums, embarrassments to their families, or, if they were wealthy enough, kept guarded in some sturdy room. To have madness in one’s family, with the possibility of it popping out in oneself or one’s children, was terrifying.

  It was a relief when they arrived at Alexandra’s house. Thorpe walked her to her door, although she assured him that it was not necessary.

  “I promised your aunt that I would bring you back, and I intend to do so,” he replied shortly, and Alexandra dropped the subject.

  They had scarcely stepped into the house before Aunt Hortense appeared on the staircase. She hurried down the stairs, arms outstretched. “Alexandra! Oh, my dear, are you all right? We have been so worried!”

  Alexandra went gratefully into her aunt’s arms. The truth was, she felt very much like crying on someone’s shoulder, though she had to admit that it had little to do with her ordeal. “I know. I’m sorry. How is Mother?”

  Aunt Hortense drew back, shaking her head. “Alive, but still in a coma. I—I’m afraid that she may be like that forever!”

  “Don’t say that. I am sure she will recover.”

  “And here’s Nancy being hysterical now,” Aunt Hortense went on agitatedly, “and saying that she wants to leave this heathen country—well, one can hardly blame her, I suppose, for that, but I had thought that I could at least count on her not to fall to pieces. The butler’s threatening to tender his resignation. He says he has never worked in a household where such things happened—as if it were our fault! Now, I ask you…Needless to say, I told him that we were not used to such things happening in America, and I pointed out to him that at least in the United States people have a sense of loyalty to their employers. Then, the next thing I know, there’s Nancy blubbering like one of the upstairs maids and saying that she wants to go back home.”

  “We can’t go back yet, not with Mother like that. We have to wait until she recovers. I suppose if Nancy is set on going, I could give her passage home by herself.”

  Aunt Hortense sniffed. “I thought she was made of sterner stuff.�
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  Alexandra shrugged. “I suppose being hit on the head twice would be enough to jolt someone.”

  Aunt Hortense turned to Thorpe. “I’m sorry, Lord Thorpe. You must think me rag mannered, indeed. I have not even thanked you for returning Alexandra to me. I am eternally indebted to you. You have done so much for us.” She turned toward Alexandra. “I hope you thanked him properly.”

  “Of course.” Alexandra kept her eyes turned resolutely away from him. She was afraid that if she looked at him, Aunt Hortense would see written on her face everything that had happened the night before.

  “I am only glad that I could be of service,” Thorpe replied stiffly.

  “Come into the sitting room,” Aunt Hortense went on. “You must tell me everything that happened. How did you find Alexandra? Where was she?”

  Alexandra and Thorpe cast a quick glance at each other and followed Aunt Hortense into the other room. When they sat down, Thorpe told her aunt a carefully expurgated account of how he had found Peggoddy and gotten Alexandra’s location from him, then had taken her away from Magdalena’s.

  “But, my dear, how dreadful for you!” Aunt Hortense exclaimed, taking Alexandra’s hand and squeezing it. “But I don’t understand—where were you last night? After I got the message from Lord Thorpe’s servant? He said you were all right, so you must have been rescued by then.” She turned a puzzled face toward Thorpe.

  Thorpe shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Alexandra could feel heat beginning to rise in her face.

  Thorpe cleared his throat and said, “It was, ah, a delicate situation.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I, um, Miss Ward was not herself at the time, and I thought it would be better if you did not see her until she was fully recovered.”

  Aunt Hortense looked at him steadily. “I cannot understand what could have been so wrong with her that she would not have been better off under my care.”

  “I was drugged, Aunt Hortense,” Alexandra said flatly. “I suspect that they gave me opium.”

  “Opium!”

  “Yes—and some sort of herbal concoction. I am sure Lord Thorpe felt that you would be terribly shocked to see me that way.”

  “No doubt I would have,” Aunt Hortense agreed heartily. “But I’m sure I have seen worse things than that. I did, after all, live through a war.” She fixed her stern gaze on Lord Thorpe. “This is a terrible situation. Surely you must see what damage it would do to Alexandra’s reputation if it were known that she spent the night at your house without any sort of chaperone!”

  Thorpe set his jaw. “I can assure you that none of my servants will talk, Miss Ward. They are chosen for their loyalty, as well as their competence.”

  “Aunt Hortense, please…it was for the best.”

  “But it’s hardly the thing for you to be spending the night unprotected with a—an Englishman.”

  “It would be no better if it had been an American man, Aunt. And you can rest assured that nothing happened.” Her last words were uttered with a heartfelt bitterness that made her aunt blink.

  “But the appearances—what about your reputation?”

  “What does it matter?” Alexandra retorted. “No one will know of it. We will be going home soon, and there will be no possibility of anyone there hearing of it.” Alexandra realized, with some surprise, that the thought of returning to the United States made her want to cry.

  “You are going home?” Thorpe asked, startled.

  Aunt Hortense looked at him oddly, and Alexandra said, “Yes, of course. We did not intend to live in England.”

  “No, of course not. I just presumed that your visit would extend several months. I—When do you plan to leave?”

  “We were planning to sail next week.”

  “Next week!” Thorpe looked thunderstruck.

  “Obviously, with Mother in this condition, that is very unlikely. I presume we will go as soon as she improves.”

  “I see. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Alexandra stared. “Tell you! Whatever do you mean? It was you who suggested in no uncertain terms that I leave. I cannot see why it is any shock to you that we were going to do so.”

  Sebastian looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Well, of course…but, well, I suppose I thought you would stay to see this thing resolved.”

  “In what way?” Alexandra asked wearily. “I don’t know how we can get at the truth of any of this. My mother is the only one who would have any information about my birth, and she is unable to talk. Even if she should awaken and be lucid, I have explained to you about her. I was not able to get her to answer any of my questions before. I see no reason she would tell me now.”

  “But what about the Countess?”

  “What about her?” Alexandra retorted. “I like the woman. I shall be sorry not to have more of her company. But my family has always been Aunt Hortense and my mother and the cousins I have back in Boston. That is where my home is.”

  Thorpe said nothing for a moment, just looked at her. “Of course. I see. Well, before you leave, I think there is one thing that we could do to try to clear up this muddled situation. We have not visited Bertie Chesterfield, as we promised the Countess we would. I think we should.”

  “All right. Whenever you want, though it does not sound as if he knows very much.”

  “Only what he saw, which, considering Bertie, is not necessarily something one can count on.”

  They agreed that he would find the man at White’s and arrange a meeting with him. Then, wishing a speedy recovery for her mother, he left. Alexandra watched him go, thinking that she could not remember ever having felt this lonely. Was this what it was like to be in love?

  She pushed the thought away. One thing she was determined not to do was to spend her time pining after some man—especially an arrogant British nobleman whom she scarcely knew!

  “Come,” she said to her aunt, rising briskly from her chair. “I want to see Mother.”

  THERE WAS A TAP ON THE DOOR to her mother’s bedroom, and one of the maids entered timidly. “Miss.” She bobbed a little curtsey to Alexandra. “Miss Ward requests your presence downstairs. She said I should look after Mrs. Ward for you.”

  Alexandra was less than certain about the maid’s ability to look after her mother. They were all scared of Rhea, despite the fact that she was lying helpless and asleep on the bed. Alexandra and her aunt had taken turns sitting with her mother for the past day, for Nancy was still in bed, her head bandaged, and complaining of a sick headache. The blow on her head seemed to have changed her to a different person—a sniveling, complaining one—and Alexandra had bought her passage on a ship sailing for America in two days. It would mean that she and Aunt Hortense would have to bear the burden of looking after her mother since the servants seemed too skittish to be of much use in the sickroom.

  She went down the stairs and into the drawing room, where she found her aunt with two visitors: Nicola Falcourt and Penelope, the shy daughter of Lady Ursula. Alexandra stopped, surprised. Her first thought was that Lord Thorpe had immediately spread the word about Alexandra’s kidnapping and that the two young women were here to satisfy their curiosity.

  However, it took only a few moments of conversation with them to dispel that idea. Minutes after exchanging greetings, Penelope gave Alexandra a shy smile and said, “Grandmama sent us over with specific instructions to invite you to the opera with us tonight. Please say you will. It would be most delightful. Nicola and Lord Buckminster are accompanying us, too.” The girl colored a little as she said this, but she went on, “It should be ever so much fun. My mother shan’t be accompanying us.”

  She stopped, sucking in a little gasp. “Oh! I didn’t mean that the way it sounded!”

  Alexandra rather suspected that she had, at least deep down inside, but she would not embarrass the girl by pointing it out. “Of course not. I understand what you mean. It would be much more comfortable for me if Lady Ursula were not one of the party.”


  “Yes, that’s it.” Penelope cast Alexandra a grateful look.

  “And for Bucky,” Nicola added a little roguishly. “Lady Ursula has little liking for Bucky. She considers him frivolous…which, of course, he is.”

  “He is not frivolous,” Penelope protested. “He is simply fun-loving and—and easy to be around.”

  Alexandra was beginning to suspect that the plain young woman had something of a tendre for Lord Buckminster. It seemed a trifle odd to Alexandra, for Lord Buckminster had indeed struck her as an eminently frivolous sort, whereas Lady Ursula’s daughter seemed both serious and retiring. Alexandra wondered whether the easygoing Bucky had any idea of Penelope’s regard for him. Alexandra suspected, from the sideways look Nicola sent Penelope, that she, at least, was aware of Penelope’s feelings.

  “Of course he is,” Nicola said lightly. “I was simply teasing about him. Bucky is a dear, and we probably none of us appreciate him enough. After Papa died, Bucky and his mother took Mama and Deborah and me in with all the good grace in the world.” She turned to Alexandra and added hastily, “It was not that Papa left us unprovided for. We were perfectly comfortable, but of course we had to leave Falcourt Place.”

  Alexandra must have looked lost, for Nicola added, “The estate passed to the nearest male relative, you see, Papa having no sons.”

  “You mean you had to leave your house?” It reminded her of what Thorpe had said about the Countess and Exmoor House—that it had been where she used to live, but that it now belonged to the Earl of Exmoor. It seemed a cruel system to Alexandra.

  Nicola nodded. “Yes, it was rather painful, especially for Mama. Papa’s cousin Herbert got the place, and his wife and Mama never got along. It would have been impossible for us to stay, although for courtesy’s sake he offered.” She smiled, a dimple popping into the smooth skin of her cheek. “With his fingers crossed behind his back all the while, I’m sure. It was a relief all around to separate Mama and Lady Herbert. So we went to stay with Mama’s nephew—that’s Lord Buckminster.” She smiled, her eyes going a little misty. “It was a wonderful time. I loved Buckminster House.” Her smile turned wistful, and for an instant her eyes were cold and lonely. Then she seemed to pull herself to the present, looking at Alexandra and saying, “Lady Buckminster is wonderful, too.”