“Miss Shipley is leaving? Oh dear,” said Lucy. “I’m not surprised! I’d better go up to the house at once. You don’t mind, do you, Viola?”
Almost without waiting to hear Viola’s answer, Lucy picked up her skirts and ran into the house. Left alone with the groom, Viola gave him a bright smile. “Good morning,” she said. “I am Miss Andrews. Would you mind showing me the way to the Italian Fountain?”
In the previous century, a small wilderness, confined by a crumbling brick wall, had been established between the stables and the gardens at Cross Mere. The groom led Viola to it and showed her the path that led through the wilderness to the garden.
Viola had not gone far when she saw a man and a woman standing in the shadowy embrace of an oak tree. Recognizing the gentleman, Viola crept up to them.
“It is a handsome offer, my lord,” the woman was saying.
“I can do no less as a gentleman,” Lord Cheviot replied. “I wish I could do more.”
“You are very good, my lord,” said she, blushing rosily.
“If I were not married, it would be different, of course,” said Lord Cheviot. “But I cannot subject my wife and children to ugly gossip. I only hope you can forgive me.”
“Indeed, my lord,” said Miss Shipley, in a treacly voice that made Viola’s skin crawl, “there is nothing to forgive. These have been the happiest days of my life.”
“Oh, Miss Shipley! Dash it all,” said Tony.
“Oh, my lord!” sobbed Miss Shipley, burying her face in his chest.
“There, there,” said Tony, patting her here and there.
Viola could endure no more. She stepped on a twig, breaking it with a sharp crack.
“Oh, I beg your pardon!” she said as the pair whirled around to stare at her. Miss Shipley stood white-faced, clinging to Lord Cheviot’s arm.
“Good God!” said Tony Cheviot, gaping at Viola in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
“Good morning, Lord Cheviot,” Viola said, smiling pleasantly. “I am Miss Andrews. I have come to see your Italian Fountain. Would you be good enough to take me to it?”
Miss Shipley she ignored completely. She simply did not see her.
Lord Cheviot stared at her helplessly. “What did you say your name was?”
“Andrews,” Viola repeated firmly.
“Oh, yes, of course,” he murmured. “Miss Andrews.”
“My lord?” Viola said, clearing her throat. “The Italian Fountain, if you please.”
“Of course!” Tony said quickly. “This way, Miss Andrews. This way.”
Recovering as best he could from the nasty shock of seeing his landlord’s sister on the grounds of Cross Mere, he offered her his arm. Leaving Miss Shipley to fend for herself, he led Viola away from the gate. “I think you will find that the Italian Fountain has been quite beautifully maintained while I have held the lease here at Cross Mere,” he babbled. “Indeed, I have made many improvements over the past three years.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Viola said warmly.
“Now, my son Henry did carve his initials in the banister,” Tony admitted, “but I’m fairly confident that it can be refinished to everybody’s satisfaction. Then, of course there’s Miss Shipley’s door.”
“Her door?”
“Well, I had to break it, of course.”
“Of course you did,” Viola agreed. “You had to get in.”
Tony frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous! I had to get out.”
“Completely understandable,” said Viola.
“I suppose, after you’ve inspected the fountain, you’ll want to see the house,” he said gloomily. “About the crack in the dining-room chimneypiece—”
“Is there a crack in the dining-room chimneypiece?” she asked politely.
“It was there when we took the place,” he said fiercely. “You cannot blame me for that. You can tell your brother that I, naturally, will be responsible for all damages. But I’m not responsible for the crack in the dining room chimneypiece.”
“Oh, so you do remember me,” Viola said smugly. “Have I changed very much since the age of seventeen?”
“No, not at all,” he replied unflatteringly. “You are, perhaps, a little taller.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I call myself Miss Andrews?” Viola snapped, vexed that he had not taken the opportunity to pay her a compliment.
“I assume you are incognito,” he answered with a shrug. “It’s really none of my business what you call yourself. I hope your brother is in good health?”
“My brother is perfectly robust, thank you. And your wife?”
Tony jumped nervously. “Perdita? What about her?”
“Is her ladyship in good health?”
“Perdita is in excellent health,” he said quickly. “There, you see,” he went on, spiriting her out of the wilderness into the formal garden. “Behold, the Italian Garden, with the fountain at the center. I put a new drain in last spring. Now it works a treat.”
Julian was sitting on the terrace wall. Dressed for riding, he looked even more handsome than usual. As they approached, he jumped down, frowning as he dusted off the seat of his riding breeches. There was no sign of Bijou.
Viola confined her attention to the fountain. It was a big one, hewn of marble, with classical figures representing the nine Muses crowning the god Apollo at the top of Mt Parnassus. Apollo looked as smug as any mortal man surrounded by nine half-naked damsels could possibly look. Nine sprays of water, meant to represent the wellsprings of the imagination, no doubt, babbled merrily into the reflecting pond.
“As you can see,” Tony said fussily, “it is in perfect working order.”
“Erato’s nose is missing,” Viola said critically.
“It was like that when we took the place,” Tony said automatically.
“Perhaps she cut it off to spite her face,” Julian suggested, strolling over.
“Oh, hullo, Julian. This is my brother-in-law Mr Devize,” Tony murmured. “Julian, this is Miss…I’m sorry. What did you say your name was again?” he asked Viola.
“Miss Andrews,” Viola said. “How do you do, Mr Devize?”
She sank into a beautiful curtsey. Her lips smiled, but her eyes were stormy. Julian answered with a formal bow.
“Are those my riding breeches you are wearing?” Tony suddenly demanded of his brother-in-law. “And my new, wine-colored coat!” he added savagely.
“Yes,” Julian answered coolly. “Your valet was very obliging. Miss Andrews, I see, is dressed for riding, too. Perhaps she would care to go for a gallop with me?”
“Not even a trot, Mr Julian,” Viola answered, smiling at Lord Cheviot. “I’m very thirsty, my lord. Would you be good enough to offer me a lemonade?”
“You’re perfectly welcome to come into the house,” he said grudgingly, “but mind the step at the back door. It was loose when we moved in,” he added quickly.
“I’ve just come from the stables,” Viola averred. “I’m really not fit to enter the house. Would you send it out to me? I will drink it here with Mr Julian.”
“Right-o!” Relieved, Tony bounded up the steps to the terrace.
“You’re late,” Julian told Viola, almost before Lord Cheviot was out of earshot.
“How would you know?” she said belligerently. “You pawned your watch.”
“There are clocks in the house.”
“But who sets them?” Viola countered. “Anyway, you waited for me, so you can’t complain. Where is my dog?”
“Mop is perfectly safe, I assure you. For now,” he added ominously.
“Her name is Bijou!”
“What can I tell you? She answers to Mop now,” he said smugly.
“Monster!”
He merely smiled. “Where is my ring?”
Viola squared her shoulders. “I told you. I don’t have it. I threw it away.”
He laughed mirthlessly. “Then you’d better find the dustman and get it back, my dear.
”
“I threw it out of a window at Gambol House. It’s probably in the river!”
“Swim,” he advised her.
Viola stamped her foot. “I want my dog!”
He took a step toward her. “Actually,” he said, “I think you’ll find she’s my dog. I paid for her, after all. I found her all alone at Gambol Hall as I was leaving. She came with me quite willingly. Such an affectionate little creature. You came with me quite willingly, too, as I recall,” he added cheekily. “You went off like a Roman candle.”
“Here is your lemonade, miss,” said the servant, who had crept up on them.
“Thank you,” said Viola. Snatching the glass from the tray, she flung the contents into Julian’s face. “Would you be good enough to bring me another?” she asked the servant politely, returning the glass to the tray. “The gentleman drank mine.”
Julian calmly took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. “You will regret that, Miss Andrews,” he said in a still, quiet voice that for some reason made her tremble.
“I think I will go into the house, after all,” she said quickly, hurrying after the servant.
Julian fell into step beside her. “I owe Mr Grey ten thousand guineas for that ring.”
“I tell you, I cannot give you what I do not have!” she hissed.
“Then you must bring me something of equal value, my sweet,” he said.
“Fine!” Viola snapped. At the same time, she stumbled over the loose step at the back door of the house. If Julian had not caught her in his arms, she would have been sent sprawling across the polished marble floor within.
“Are you all right?” he asked, holding her so close she could hear his heart beating.
“Perfectly all right,” she snapped, humiliated. “Thank you. Will you let me go, please?”
He released her so abruptly, she nearly fell again. “You will meet me at dusk, at the Folly,” he commanded. “Do you know where it is?”
“No,” she said sulkily.
“You’ll find it,” he said confidently. “I will be waiting for you with Bijou.”
So saying, he turned on his heel and left her.
“Miss Rampling!”
Lucy jumped, hitting her head on the underside of Julian’s bed. Scrambling to her feet, she turned to find Alex Devize standing in the doorway with a look of shock seared onto his face. Lucy turned beet-red.
“Oh, Mr Devize,” she breathed. “You frightened me!”
“What are you doing in my brother’s room?” Alex blurted out.
“Oh! Is this your b-brother’s room?” Lucy stammered, beads of sweat pricking her brow.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Rampling,” Alex said stiffly. “It is, of course, none of my business. You need not explain your movements to me.”
“There’s really nothing to explain. I was simply looking for my handkerchief,” Lucy said quickly. “I must have left it here last night.”
“In my brother’s bed?” Alex almost snarled.
Lucy turned white. “Of course not! I didn’t even know this was his room,” she added unconvincingly.
“Did you find it?” Alex asked politely.
Lucy went blank. “Find what?”
“Your handkerchief.”
“Oh, yes, thank you!” Lucy said, producing her handkerchief from her pocket. In the next instant, she cringed. “I mean, no! Of course not! What would my handkerchief be doing in Mr Julian’s room?” She laughed nervously and scooted to the door. “Please excuse me, Mr Devize! I must go and congratulate Lady Cheviot on the success of her ball.”
“Didn’t you get my note?” he said sharply.
Lucy blinked at him. “Did you send a note, Mr Devize?”
“Yes, I did. Didn’t you get it?”
“No, I’m sorry. Your brother’s note caused such an uproar at the Hall that I’m afraid I didn’t even look to see if there were any other letters.”
“I see,” he said grimly.
“Was it important?” she asked him.
“Yes. About last night…”
Lucy’s face broke out in hives as she recalled his kiss. “Please don’t mention it, Mr Devize,” she pleaded. “Pray, let us never mention the unfortunate incident again.”
“I would like nothing better than to forget it,” he said rather sharply.
“There’s no need to be rude,” said Lucy.
Alex sighed. “I don’t mean to be rude, Miss Rampling,” he said. “The thing is, I think I must tell my sister.”
Lucy blinked at him. “Tell your sister! Tell Lady Cheviot that you kissed me?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I must tell her what Henry did, that’s all. You see, you and I were not Henry’s only victims last night. He locked my brother-in-law in the governess’s bedroom—with the governess. Most unfortunately, my sister discovered them. I’m afraid Perdita jumped to all the wrong conclusions. She is determined to dismiss Miss Shipley.”
“Oh, poor Miss Shipley!” cried Lucy. “What will she do if she’s turned off?”
“Poor Tony!” Alex retorted. “Perdita’s threatening to leave him.”
“Well, he was in Miss Shipley’s room,” Lucy pointed out.
“Lured there by the infamous Henry, and locked in!”
“Henry wouldn’t do that to his father, surely,” Lucy protested.
“Why not? He did it to us,” Alex pointed out gruffly, “his favorite uncle and his auxiliary governess. Why wouldn’t he do it to his father and his primary governess? This is a bad beginning. If I can’t convince you, how will I convince Perdita? She thinks Henry is an angel!”
“She can’t possibly think that,” said Lucy. “I suppose you’d better tell her what he did to us, even if it helps Lord Cheviot. Indeed, you should have done so already. Why didn’t you?”
“I wanted to talk to you first,” he explained. “I will leave your name out of it, of course. There could be some harm to your reputation, after all.”
“I think it’s a little late to worry about my reputation, Mr Devize,” Lucy said wryly. “Now, where could that little dog be?” she murmured in frustration.
“Dog?”
“Small, white, looks rather like a powder puff?” Lucy said hopefully.
“If you’re looking for a dog, the twins were playing with a puppy this morning at breakfast,” Alex offered helpfully.
“Did it look like a powderpuff?” Lucy asked eagerly.
“Not anymore,” he said dryly.
Lucy gasped. “Where is she now?”
“The dog? I have no idea. The twins are playing croquet on the south lawn. You can see them from the window.”
“Thank you!” Lucy breathed, running from the room as if her skirts were on fire.
Alex stood at the window, watching as Lucy joined the two children on the lawn below. He didn’t know what to think. Lucy and Julian? Julian and Lucy?
Yesterday, he would have thought such an attachment impossible.
“Women!” Julian complained, breezing into the room. “Was it Alexander Pope who said we can’t live with them or without them?” he asked his brother, tearing off his coat.
“Erasmus,” Alex replied without thinking. “Although Ovid has some remarkably similar lines in his Amores.”
Julian began to remove his wet clothing.
“What happened to you?” Alex asked him listlessly.
“Too much lemonade,” Julian explained. He went to the washbasin, and, stripping to the waist, poured cold water from the jug over his head. “Hand me a clean shirt, will you? What are you doing in my room?” he asked curiously as Alex tossed him a fresh shirt from the wardrobe.
“I was just admiring the view from your window,” Alex said, thinking quickly. To give credence to his story, he looked out onto the lawn. It was a brilliant spring day. The grass was emerald, and the sky was robin’s egg blue. Miss Andrews, in scarlet, had joined Lucy and the twins on the south lawn. In her quiet gray habit, Lucy looked dull and insignificant. Why then c
ould Alex not take his eyes off of her?
“Now, now, old man,” said Julian, joining him at the window. “I saw her first.”
“Did you?” Alex wondered.
“I met her in London,” Julian explained. “My life has been upside down ever since. Troublesome creature, but I can’t seem to do without her.”
“If that’s how you feel about it,” Alex said sharply, “you should marry her.”
Julian flashed him a look of surprise. “I intend to.”
“What’s stopping you?” Alex snapped. “Go to the court and get yourself a special license. You can be married by any clergyman in the country.”
“I went to Doctor’s Commons,” Julian said irritably. “Trouble is, our mother got there before me. Apparently, she does not approve of my fiancée. She’s used her connections to make it impossible for me to get a special license.”
Alex’s lip curled. “So you just gave up?”
“Don’t I always?” Julian said sarcastically. “I didn’t give up, thank you. She gave up. She left London, without so much as a word to me. I thought she’d married someone else. I came here hating her.”
Alex’s heart skipped a beat. “Then…you are no longer engaged?”
“Oh, we’re engaged,” Julian said grimly. “Was it Pope who said the course of true love never did run smooth?”
“No. Shakespeare.”
“What did Pope say?” Julian said irritably. “I’m beginning to think he doesn’t deserve his reputation as a man of wit.”
“Pope said that women fall when men are weak.”
“Ouch,” Julian said ruefully.
“He also said fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”
“Another good one.” Julian grinned suddenly. “Don’t look so unhappy, Alex! Your day will come. Someone will take pity on you one of these days. She might even be pretty.”
“I can but hope,” Alex said, fixing a smile on his face.
“You will find yourself doing the strangest things,” Julian predicted. “I kidnapped her dog, just so she’d have to talk to me again! I’m not proud of it, but it worked. I was arrested and thrown in Newgate Prison because of her. I just got out.”
The Heiress In His Bed Page 33