by Eloisa James
If the truth were told, many of Lady Troubridge’s houseguests were similarly afflicted by an attack of memory. Sir Rushwood was also abed, brooding over an unpleasant remark made by his wife after he danced a waltz with the beauteous Mrs. Boylen. Tuppy Perwinkle had glimpsed his wife, Carola, dancing at least three times with a foppishly elegant man. Now he was in the breakfast room gloomily chewing toast and wondering if a new wardrobe might win back his wife’s affections.
Gina was startled out of her reverie by the sound of her mother’s voice followed by a swish of silk.
“Darling!” her mother announced. “Open your eyes. I am here. I arrived late last night.”
“I gathered that,” Gina mumbled, pushing herself up on the pillows. “May we have this discussion at a later hour, Mother?”
“I’m afraid not,” Lady Cranborne said, “given that I have made this trip merely to speak to you. I must return to London immediately for a meeting of the Ladies’ Charity Organization. I have received another one!” she announced. The edge of hysteria in her voice finally caught her daughter’s attention.
“Another what?” But she guessed, even before her mother answered.
“Another letter of course!” Lady Cranborne half screamed. “And what am I to do about it? My brother is dead!”
“Well, that’s true,” Gina answered, startled. “But what does his death have to do with the arrival of this letter?”
“Everything!” said Lady Cranborne in anguished tones that might have come from an overwrought Ophelia.
Gina waited.
“Last time, I summoned my brother and he took care of it all. Everything! I didn’t have to worry about the letter again. I believe he even hired a Bow Street Runner, although since he said nothing about it, I suppose the man was unsuccessful. And now we are alone. Even Cranborne has been dead these five years, although he was utterly useless when we received the first letter, utterly useless! All he could say was, ‘Thought the woman knew how to keep her mouth!’”
Gina had heard this summary of her father’s abilities many a time, and reiteration was tedious.
“Thank God, Girton was a different kind of man from my husband,” Lady Cranborne continued without pause.
“Thank God he saw immediately that you had to marry his son, because if it was up to your father, you would have been branded a bastard the length and breadth of England before he even understood the consequences. He was that beef-witted.”
“Yes, but Mother—”
“My brother simply took charge. He grasped the situation in two seconds and summoned Camden back from Oxford that very afternoon. And there you were, married the next day. If there’s anything I admire, my dear, it’s a man of action. Which your father was not!”
“Did you receive another blackmail letter?”
But her mother was striding back and forth so furiously that she didn’t hear. “I begged your father, when you were brought to us, as a baby,” she cried. “I said, Cranborne, if you have an intelligent bone in your body, you’ll pay That Woman off!”
Gina sighed. It was clearly going to be a lengthy conversation. She climbed out of bed, pulled on her robe, and sat down next to the fire.
“Did he obey me? Did he even listen to me? No! All Cranborne did was mumble about how distinguished That Woman was, and how she would never betray her own child. And what happened?”
“Nothing so terrible,” Gina put in. “I became a duchess, remember?”
“Due to my brother, never to Cranborne!” she said triumphantly. “The first letter arrived—and who would write an anonymous letter? A French person. Obviously it was That Woman who wrote the letter. And this one as well, no doubt.”
“Mother,” Gina repeated.
Lady Cranborne paced.
“Mother!”
“What? What is it?” She stopped her frantic walk in mid-step and automatically put her hands to her hair. “Did you say something, dearest?”
“Countess Ligny cannot have written you a letter. She died last year.”
Lady Cranborne gaped. “What?”
Gina nodded.
“Your—your—the woman who gave birth to you is dead? Impossible!”
“Mr. Rounton wrote me a letter, and he enclosed a notice from the Paris Express.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Gina saw the warning signs of an attack of temper. “I didn’t want to upset you by even bringing up her name.”
“And what did you do about it?” Lady Cranborne asked.
“Do?”
“I know you, Gina!” she snapped. “I may not have given birth to you, but I did raise you! What did you do after receiving Rounton’s letter?”
“I wrote a letter to her estate,” Gina admitted. “I was wondering whether she left a message or a note…”
Lady Cranborne rustled across the room and patted her daughter on the head. “I am sorry, dearest,” she said, dropping a kiss on pale red hair that precisely matched that of the infamous Countess Ligny. “I am truly sorry. The countess was an ingrate and a fool, even though her loss was my blessing.”
Gina took a deep breath. “It’s all right. She paid no attention to me during her life, but I thought perhaps…” She shrugged. “The puzzling thing is, though—”
“Lud!” Lady Cranborne broke in, hand to her mouth. “If That Woman—if Countess Ligny didn’t write this letter, then who did?”
“What does the letter say?”
Her mother fished in her reticule. “Here it is.” It was written on heavy stock, in a precise secretary hand.
For a moment Gina’s eyes danced over the ornate loops and twists of the script without being able to decipher its meaning. Then suddenly the text jumped at her.
Might the Marquess be miffed?
The Duchess has a Brother.
“I have a brother,” she whispered. “I have a brother!”
“Must be a half brother,” Lady Cranborne corrected. “I never allowed your father anywhere near the continent after that trip to France had such ghastly consequences.” She caught herself. “I didn’t mean that, darling. You are a blessing to me. Thank God That Woman didn’t want to raise her own children. Lord knows where this brother of yours might be. Likely she threw him back at his father, same as she did with you.”
“But who on earth could have written this letter?”
“Obviously, the countess was careless. She assured your father that no one even knew that you existed. As soon as she realized she was enceinte, she retired to her country estate. And you appeared at our doorstep as a babe of only six weeks.” She gave her daughter an impulsive kiss. “It was the happiest day of my life.”
Gina smiled. “The happiest and the angriest, Mama.”
“True. But by then I had Cranborne’s measure, my dear. If there was another such fool in the world, I never met him. If I hadn’t kept him on a short leash, he’d have sprouted children like brussels sprouts in a cabbage patch, I swear to God.”
Gina was staring at the anonymous letter again. “Perhaps they’ll write again and tell me where to find my brother.”
“More likely they will write and ask for money,” her mother pointed out. “The letter is clearly a threat. How do you think Bonnington will feel about you having an illegitimate brother?”
“Oh, he’ll be—” but the words caught in her throat before she said that Sebastian would be happy for her. The fact was that from the moment she confessed the truth of her birth—that she was, in fact, her father’s illegitimate child with a French countess—Sebastian had never mentioned the disreputable fact again. In fact, she suspected that he was pretending he never heard it. The story believed by most of England, that Gina was the orphaned child of one of Lady Cranborne’s distant cousins, was far more palatable.
“He won’t take it well,” Lady Cranborne pointed out. Then, with a faint giggle, “He’ll be miffed.”
Gina had to admit the truth of that. “He won’t like it. Particularly if there is
a chance that the letter writer will actually spill the news to the public.”
“Thank goodness your father was never allowed to meddle with the estate. We’re certainly rich enough to pay for this horrid person’s silence.”
Gina sat down on the end of the bed. “I’m not so sure that is wise,” she said slowly. “The blackmailer has been waiting, hasn’t he? Uncle Girton thwarted the initial threat of exposure by marrying me to Cam. But then Cam fled to Greece. So the letter writer has waited and waited. He must know that Cam is about to annul the marriage. And he thinks I will pay a fortune to ensure that Sebastian’s offer of marriage holds.”
Lady Cranborne nodded. “As the Duchess of Girton, you could brazen your way through a scandal about your birth. But as an ex-duchess and a bastard, you make a poor prospect for a marchioness. Perhaps you should throw over the marquess now, before he has the chance to throw you over,” her mother suggested.
Gina looked at her suspiciously. “You simply don’t like Sebastian.”
“True,” Lady Cranborne said, preening before the dressing table mirror. “I think he’s a stick, my dear. But then I’m not marrying him.”
The words “Thank God” echoed silently in the room.
“Cam arrived last night.”
“Did he? How lovely! I can’t wait to see the boy. I’ll have to try to catch him at luncheon. Did I tell you that there is a meeting of the Ladies’ Charity Organization tonight? I can tell you, in the darkest secrecy, of course, that there is a small chance that I shall be elected president. I shall refuse, of course.” Lady Cranborne looked affectionately at her aristocratic countenance. A thoroughly modern matron, she spent most of her time rushing from philanthropy to philanthropy.
“Congratulations, Mother!” Gina said, summoning up all the enthusiasm she could. “That would mean you are the head of four organizations, wouldn’t it?”
“Three,” Lady Cranborne said. “I discarded the Golspie Cripples’ Committee last week. Just a group of muddleheaded old ducks who didn’t understand leadership. If there was one thing my brother taught me, it was how to lead. Although I must say that he handled young Camden very badly. Very badly. One of the few areas in which I’d seen him act in a bacon-brained manner, and so I told him.”
“Yes,” Gina said, remembering the battles that enlivened the house after Cam had fled to Italy, leaving his bride virga intacta in their marital bedchamber.
“It wasn’t your fault, dearest. My brother had a heavy hand.”
“He could be cruel, Mother.”
“I wouldn’t go so far. His harshness was due to his great intelligence.” Lady Cranborne patted her hair before the mirror.
Gina bit her tongue. The Girtons had made a practice of worshipping at the altar of intelligence over humanity; who was she to try to change her mother’s mind? “I suppose we must simply wait for another communication,” she said.
“Do you plan to inform Bonnington?” her mother asked.
“No.”
Lady Cranborne glanced over her shoulder with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Careful, darling,” she said.
“Keeping secrets from one’s husband often signals the beginning of trouble in a marriage.”
“He is not my husband,” Gina said sharply. “Cam is my husband.”
“Well, then, tell Camden,” Lady Cranborne said, tucking an errant ringlet back under her cap. “He was shaping up to be almost as intelligent as his father, from what I remember.”
“More so, I think.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Girton always complained that the boy was afraid of the dark and afraid of guns and who knows what else. All because he disliked hunting. Girton thought Camden was a milksop simply because he spent his time carving wooden boats rather than shooting animals. But I thought he showed signs of early acuity.”
“He’s not a milksop. Not at all.”
“I never thought so,” her mother said. “Could tell he’d inherited the family brains. As did you, darling,” she added loyally.
Gina forbore to point out that she was no blood relation to the Girtons. Yet even in her brief reacquaintance with her husband, it was clear that conventions wouldn’t bother him. “I wouldn’t mind discussing the letter with Cam,” she said slowly.
Her mother nodded. “We could use some help. We’ll need a man to deliver the money once it is demanded, for one thing.”
“I don’t like the idea of paying for silence.”
“I don’t like the idea of you being foisted out of society either. Small minds must be appeased, and so we will pay through the nose to ensure you marry Bonnington, if that’s what you wish. And then we will never pay another red cent! Because I don’t care what the letter writer thinks; the ton will never ostracize the wife of a very wealthy marquess. Perhaps we’d better consider having the wedding directly after your annulment is obtained, however.”
“Sebastian has already obtained a special license.”
“Excellent. I shall leave you the note so that you can show it to your husband, darling. Do talk to him as soon as possible, won’t you?” She hesitated. “I need hardly ask—but you have gotten rid of that dreadful little tutor of yours, haven’t you?”
“No,” Gina replied.
“No?” Lady Cranborne’s voice rose. “In my note, written the very minute that scandalous piece appeared in the newspaper, I instructed you to let him go immediately!”
It was times like this that reminded Gina that Lady Cranborne and Cam’s father were siblings. “I can hardly do that, Mother. He is my husband’s employee—”
“I shall never understand why you brought him to a house party in the first place,” her mother declared. “Such a dreadful little—”
“He’s not dreadful,” Gina put in. “He’s just rather awkward.”
“There’s something very peculiar about him. I can’t fathom why you didn’t simply leave him at the estate, if you couldn’t bring yourself to let him go.”
“He wanted to come.”
“He wanted to come! He wanted to come!” Lady Cranborne’s voice had risen to a shriek now. “You took into account the wishes of a servant. What else did he want, a visit to Buckingham Palace? No wonder The Tatler caught hold of this!”
“Mother!”
“Girtons do not behave like common rabble!” her mother said. “We do not abandon our dignity, ever, nor do we do odd things which allow the hoi polloi to mar your virtue. What on earth were you thinking of, Ambrogina?”
“It was foolish,” Gina admitted. “I merely said that I was sorry to suspend our tutoring, and he expressed such a wish to accompany me that I couldn’t very well leave him behind. He’s not a nuisance, Mother. I do enjoy learning Italian history.”
“He must go,” Lady Cranborne said ominously. “I shall speak to your husband immediately. Now I must leave. If I don’t see you at luncheon, au revoir, dearest.” And she swept off with an expression that made it clear that she would be mollified only when one history tutor had walked out of the house with his bags in hand.
8
In Which Beautiful Men Frolic by the River
Gina didn’t see Cam until late afternoon. Lady Troubridge had organized a picnic al fresco at the banks of the River Saddler, which ran at the bottom of the gardens. Gina strolled down the hill with Esme.
“My goodness,” Esme said, as they neared the river.
“Who is that exquisite young man?”
Gina looked. “An actor. His name is something absurdly theatrical. Reginald Gerard, I think.”
Tables had been set out in the shade of some old willow trees that spread themselves like gossiping matrons on the riverbank. The actor was crossing the river by leaping from one protruding rock to the next, grabbing apples from a low-hanging apple tree, and returning them to the young ladies waiting on the bank.
Every once in a while he tottered and seemed sure to fall into the river, eliciting little shrieks from the flock of debutantes clustered on the bank.
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“What a nauseating spectacle,” came a drawling voice at Gina’s ear.
She turned to smile at her husband, quite as if she hadn’t spent the whole morning watching the parlor door for his arrival. “Hello, Cam.”
“Will you introduce me?” he said, looking appreciatively at Esme.
Esme curtsied, a little smile lurking at the corner of her mouth.
“This is Lady Rawlings,” Gina said. “Esme, my husband.”
“A true delight,” Cam said, kissing her hand.
Gina felt a stab of annoyance. Cam was married, after all. As was Esme.
“Oh look, Esme,” she said coolly. “There’s Burdett.”
Her friend managed to tear her eyes away from Cam and waved to Bernie, who came loping over with the eager pace of a well-trained retriever. “How do, then?” he said cheerfully. “How do? I’m Bernie Burdett.”
Cam bowed. “I am the Duke of Girton.”
“Oh,” Bernie said, clearly nonplussed. But then his face cleared. “Your Grace? Your Grace!” Confident now of the proper salutation, he managed to reiterate his own name without prompting.
“Well done, Bernie,” Esme said, tucking her hand into his arm. “Shall we sit down, everyone?”
Cam fell in beside Gina. To her annoyance his eyes were fixed on Esme’s slender back. “What on earth is she doing with him?” he asked quietly.
“Bernie is a very, very—”
“—very picture of a fool?” Cam supplied.
Esme and Bernie had reached the edge of the river. As they watched, Bernie took off his jacket and threw it on the riverbank. Then he leaped gracefully from rock to rock without a moment’s hesitation, putting the young actor and his overdramatic stunts to shame.
“Aha,” Cam said, with amusement roughening his voice.
“I see the light.”
Gina followed his gaze. Bernie’s gray morning trousers were molded to legs as muscular and shapely as it was possible for a man’s legs to be. In truth, with the sun shining on his golden hair, Bernie Burdett probably looked as well as he had ever looked in his life. He had reached the other side of the river now and reached up to pluck an apple. White linen stretched across beautifully defined shoulders. A second later he was back at Esme’s side.