Winthrop Trilogy Box Set

by Burnett, May

  “I feel responsible, even so. She would not have risked that imprudent marriage if she had not resented my arrival as the new lady of the castle.”

  “That may be true, but it turned out well enough for her. She would never have been happy as a dependent under your roof. Whomever North would have married, she would have found equally insupportable. I suffered agonies when Father remarried and I had to endure the authority of a stepmother – not that there can be any comparison between her and you, but the principle is the same. Milla craves independence, and she has achieved it. Good for her, I say.”

  Susan adjusted her kid gloves. “While I cannot condone the means she employed, I suppose the result was beneficial. But I wish I knew more about that French companion she hired. Milla writes to you, doesn't she? What has she confided about the woman?”

  Abby had been scanning the approaching carriages, but turned to Susan as she replied. “If it were a confidence, I would not be able to share it with you, but there was nothing special. They seem close, as Milla soon began to refer to the woman as Veronique instead of Madame Rallien. From the little she wrote I deduce she trusts and likes her, which leads me to suppose that Miss Kenningham's impression was coloured by spite and prejudice. Don't worry so much, Susan; Milla has proved more than once that she can look after herself.”

  Susan said nothing more, but she was not entirely convinced. Being clever and proud was no guarantee against being taken in. Milla was barely into her twenties. Who knew how many scoundrels of either sex might try to take advantage of her?

  Chapter 3

  Barnaby Winthrop had his own townhouse, but once a week, by old-established custom, the Winthrop family met for dinner at Branscombe House in Mayfair. That Monday evening only his Aunt Penelope was absent, gracing an exclusive house party in Kent.

  As he entered his widowed father, Lord Branscombe, stood near his accustomed seat at the head of the glossy cherry wood table, surveying the assembled family.

  The hostess’s chair opposite was reserved for Abigail, as wife to the earl’s heir. Since her marriage to his brother, she and Barnaby had become good friends. “You are in great looks tonight, Abby,” he complimented her. Her modish evening gown of ruched blue silk set off the antique Branscombe pearl set.

  His older brother Jeremy was quizzing young Theo about his latest research into ancient Persian scrolls. Lately, Barnaby was a little tired of spending so much of his time on shipping and building deals; compared to the minutiae of long-dead languages, however, even the most tedious business meeting seemed preferable. Nobody else in the family shared Theo’s scholarly passions.

  Just before the hour struck, they were joined by their youngest sibling Susan, in dark red – a daring choice for a blonde, but she carried it off – and her husband North.

  Barnaby sometimes regretted that modern fashion did not allow gentlemen to emulate ladies with more interesting colours, and channelled all their ingenuity into intricate knots for their neck cloths, or slightly different buttons. His brothers and he could almost be confused in formal dark evening dress, so closely did they resemble each other. Theo was half a head taller, of course, but Barnaby was perfectly satisfied with his own six foot one.

  Susan was seated at his side, and they talked of her approaching departure for Cornwall, a wild place to which his sister had become surprisingly attached. As godfather to Susan’s daughter Penelope, Barnaby always remembered to enquire after the babe’s welfare. Happily, the little girl was thriving and growing apace.

  The food, as always in Branscombe House, was superb. The long-serving cook had recently retired, and Abigail had replaced him with a French chef who could only be considered a master of the culinary arts.

  During the second course, Susan related her conversation with Miss Kenningham to the family. “Abby reassured me that we should not take the woman's suspicions of her successor too seriously,” she concluded. “According to Milla's letters, the French companion suits her far better than Miss Kenningham ever did.”

  For several seconds, Barnaby could not speak from fury at the idea of some Italian rake daring to invade Milla's chaste bed. His fists clenched, and had the miscreant in question stood before him at that moment, he would have been lucky if Barnaby did not stab him in the heart with his silver fork.

  What Milla had done to the scoundrel might not be considered ladylike, but it was the very least he deserved. On the other hand, some men were vindictive and might avenge such a public humiliation even upon a lady. Had she thought of that, taken any precautions? And why had he not heard of this incident before? Over a year had passed in the interim. How many other dangers might Milla have had to face?

  For this, she had left him, when he had been on the point of proposing? She should be his wife, dammit, not gallivanting around the Continent, after what had looked and felt like a mutually welcome courtship. Calm, he told himself, and put down his cutlery while he tried to slow his breathing, master his indignation.

  Why was she not here at this moment, sitting at the table with him, as his wife? Wondering yet again what had gone wrong, if it was anything he had said or done, was a useless endeavour. After Milla’s sudden departure, without explanation, Barnaby had done the sensible thing and tried to forget her. The world was full of charming young ladies. Barnaby wanted to marry, to fill his large house with a family of his own, as Jeremy and Susan were doing. Yet whenever he met a pretty girl, his immediate reaction was, but she's not a patch on Milla. She had spoilt all other women for him.

  Perhaps he had simply waited too long to propose; he had planned to do so after Jeremy and Abigail’s splendid wedding, in hopes that the occasion would put Milla into a propitious mood. She had been so very beautiful that day, if a little quiet. He’d spent the day imagining how she would look as his bride… had she decided against him because she was richer than he, and would have had to renounce her title when she married a younger son?

  The others were still discussing Milla’s experiences in Italy. “You have to hand it to Milla, she does not suffer fools or impudence gladly,” Jeremy remarked, as though the incident his sister had recounted were a good joke.

  Barnaby took his fork and knife up again, hoping his face did not betray how any mention of Milla still shook him, after all this time. She should have a husband's protection; then nobody would dare to offer such an insult. Of course, from the story Susan had relayed, Milla was fending quite well for herself. She did not need him, had probably long forgotten Barnaby during her adventures in Italy, Austria, and, lately, Bavaria.

  Lord Branscombe had the faraway look of a man trying to chase a distant, half-forgotten memory. “What was the name of that Frenchwoman again?” he asked Susan.

  “Madame Rallien – Veronique Rallien.”

  “That name rings a bell… but no, surely there cannot be any connection, after all this time.”

  “If you know anything about this woman, don’t keep us in suspense,” Abigail begged her father-in-law. “From your expression, whatever you remembered is not to this woman’s credit?” She had stopped eating and regarded him with an anxious expression.

  “There was a person of interest to us during the war,” the earl told her, “a Colonel Rallien, one of Bonaparte’s most daring and successful spies, a master of disguise. He died during that ill-fated Russian campaign, or he would likely have been executed by the new French regime. On some of his missions, he was accompanied by his wife, described as a beautiful brunette just as clever and dangerous as he.”

  “A spy?” Jeremy paused in the act of lifting his wineglass. “Even if Milla’s companion is his widow, the war is long over, and Milla has nothing to do with politics. I see no particular reason to worry.”

  “If they travel to France, it might matter,” the earl said. “The Bourbons are highly vindictive, and have reason to hate and resent the late Colonel Rallien. Even they might hesitate to avenge themselves on his widow, but it could happen. There was something else… Madame Rallien
was said to be the daughter of a famous swindler, the kind of man who would sell Versailles or the Tuileries to naïve travellers from abroad.”

  “What?” North frowned. “That a woman like that should batten upon my sister is unconscionable.”

  “Even so,” Theo said, “the daughter might be harmless. A criminal father does not necessarily have crooked children.”

  “Is she worked as a spy in the war, she’s the very opposite of harmless,” his father lectured him. “I cannot go into details, even now, but the exploits of Colonel Rallien would make your hairs stand up. He was very close to Bonaparte, and utterly ruthless. The Russians did the world a favour when they rid us of this menace.”

  “Talking of Milla reminds me of something my banker said to me the other day.” Jeremy added some peas to his plate. “I don’t recall the exact details, because I was not paying much attention, but he implied that Lady Fenton was transferring a substantial part of her fortune to the Continent. I thought it was not my business, but in light of what we have just learned, it looks suspicious.”

  “He had no right to tattle about another client,” Barnaby said sternly, “just because he was worried about losing her account.” Jeremy was not even related to Milla, except though their sister’s marriage.

  His brother shrugged. “It was indiscreet of him, but I’ll try to sound him out about it anyway. I cannot imagine why she would sell her consols, when they are so safe and she can easily live on the interest. The Continent is much cheaper than England, too.”

  Barnaby did not know what to think. Could Milla be bled dry by this Frenchwoman? Surely not. She had successfully dealt with kidnappers and criminals before her departure, and was nobody’s fool. If she were poor, of course, she might be more inclined to … but no, he did not want her to turn to him from mercenary motives. Ten to one, all this speculation was off the mark, and she was merely diversifying her fortune. The family was prone to underestimate her shrewdness.

  “Do we even know that Milla’s companion is this spy’s widow?” Susan asked. “The name may be a coincidence. We may be worrying over nothing.”

  “I shall write to Milla and warn her,” Abigail announced. “It is time she returned to England in any case. I shall request her to be godmother to our second child. That should give her ample time to wind up whatever amusements she has found and come home to us, where we can be sure she is safe.”

  “If my suspicion should be justified, by the time your child is born she could be ruined thrice over,” Lord Branscombe said heavily. “A clever trickster can take in almost anyone.”

  North rubbed his jaw. “She is my sister, my closest relative outside of my wife and children. I daresay I can spare a few weeks – two months at most – to go and see if all is well with her.”

  Jeremy frowned at him. “Will she even listen to you?”

  Susan looked troubled. “I wish I could go as well, but the children are so small still. And judging by previous experience, if we tell Milla that her companion is out to fleece her, she’ll simply refuse to speak to us, and the journey will be wasted. In all likelihood, she and this woman will have become close – closer than she has ever been to you or me, or anyone except Abigail.”

  “Well, Abigail certainly cannot go to her,” Jeremy immediately objected. “If Milla and this Madame Rallien have travelled together for over a year, most likely we are worrying unnecessarily. Professional swindlers set up and exploit their victims in much less time than that. They pretend great urgency, so that the dupe does not check properly before forking over lavish amounts of gold.”

  The solution was obvious.

  “I’ll go,” Barnaby declared. How many times over the past two years had he fought against the temptation to leave everything behind, and go after Milla? Only his stubborn pride had prevented him. Now that fate itself had arranged a reason, nothing would hold him back. “No wife or young children will miss me, and Milla has no particular reason to resent me. I also know better than to confront her with vague suspicions and warnings. Before I say anything, I’ll observe the situation for myself.”

  “Why don’t I come with you?” Theo suggested. “They are currently in Bavaria. My German is fluent since that stint in Heidelberg.”

  Barnaby shook his head. “Milla might leave Bavaria at any moment. Besides, while I travel, someone must assist Jeremy with our business dealings. They are too much for Jeremy to handle by himself, now that he has a young family.” Barnaby had thrown himself into this work after Milla’s departure. He stifled a momentary qualm at the thought of sending Theo into important negotiations, unprepared. But it was time his brother learned where his generous allowance came from.

  “Of course, if I can do anything to help,” Theo said to Jeremy, looking gratified that his assistance was needed.

  This was not a journey on which Barnaby wanted to bring a younger brother; he would not even take his valet. Perhaps the stars would finally align, and he could return married to the loveliest and most fascinating, but also most exasperating, young lady he had ever met. At the very least, he would attempt to rekindle those warm feelings that had once existed between them. He might be allowed to kiss those luscious lips, clasp her in his arms during a waltz, and find out at long last, why he could not get her out of his mind.

  If Milla truly was in trouble, he would save her, protect her, do whatever lay in his power to succour her. But he did not expect it would be necessary. Milla was not born to be a victim; she was a power in her own right.

  Barnaby could hardly wait to see her again.

  ***

  Later in the evening, long after his father and the ladies had left or retired, Barnaby found himself sharing a whiskey with his brothers.

  “It should take me about three days to settle my business matters, and find a berth to some German port,” Barnaby said.

  “I’ll talk to Milla’s banker before your departure,” Jeremy promised. “The more I consider it, the more certain I feel that he was concerned about her.”

  Barnaby shrugged, wondering if he should remove his own funds from the guardianship of this indiscreet banker. “We shall see. If anyone is taking advantage of Milla, her pride will be bruised, and I would hate to see that.” The money, to his mind, was of secondary importance.

  “You are still interested in her?” Theodore asked with a younger brother’s characteristic tactlessness.

  Barnaby shrugged, hoping his brothers would not divine his true feelings.

  “It has been almost two years,” Theo pointed out, “long enough to forget even the prettiest woman. Of course, I was abroad when you met her, and only know her by hearsay. Is she really so striking?”

  “Yes, very lovely,” Jeremy replied, relieving Barnaby of the need to answer. “Milla Fenton is an acknowledged beauty, a lady out of the common way. Gossip linked our names at the time, before I married Abigail, but I would not have wanted to court her myself: she’s too strong-willed and unpredictable, a beautiful virago.”

  Theodore frowned and looked at Barnaby questioningly. “She does not sound like a very comfortable female.”

  “Jeremy has never properly appreciated her. Abigail is his type, and she is very different indeed from Lady Fenton. But the very fact that the two are friends should tell you that there are good qualities in the latter.”

  “Abby is generous, and likes nearly everyone,” Jeremy said. “It’s not that I particularly dislike Lady Fenton. She’s just too... too unconventional. But that is not to say she may not make some other fellow a fascinating wife. A fellow braver than I.”

  Barnaby said nothing. He raised his goblet to his lips, his hands clasping the stem a little tighter than necessary. He had never felt hesitant at the thought of wooing Milla, or considered that it made him especially brave. Had she not left so abruptly, she might even now be his wife. Yet in the meantime, she might have found a foreign admirer equally willing to accept her faults, who loved her as she was – as Barnaby still did, despite all his effort
s to put her out of his mind. Had she given her heart to another? The very thought was painful. He swallowed.

  All he said to Theodore was, “You will meet her when next she comes to London. I look forward to seeing if you succumb to her charms.”

  Theodore chuckled as though this was an absurdity. The cub was riding for a fall. One of these days, he too would experience the pangs of unhappy love, whether at Milla’s or some other lady’s hands. Why should Barnaby be the only one to suffer?

  Chapter 4

  Milla bit into the tasty German bread, liberally smeared with fresh butter, and looked around the breakfast table at her small staff. She always took private lodgings when she stayed for more than a week in one place, partly because she did not want her unusual domestic arrangements to arouse curiosity and censure.

  “I hope we’ll get to meet this Major Kepler today. He’s a day overdue.” Veronique, her companion, poured hot chocolate from the silver can into her Meissen cup. Without asking, she added some of the hot liquid to the cup of Louis, their major-domo, who was seated at her right side.

  Milla repressed a sudden, ignoble jealousy at the way these two seemed to touch even when they were apart, at the smug, almost feline smile on Veronique’s face this morning, echoed by a more discreet but no less genuine contentment on Louis’ face. She had given her permission for him to join the household in full knowledge of their closeness, and should not begrudge them their precarious happiness. Yet did they have to show it so openly at the breakfast table, reminding Milla of her own cold and lonely bed?

  “I wonder why they did not choose a more aristocratic name for the Major,” Milla’s maid, Marie, said. She had served the food and drinks, but then taken a chair herself, and was buttering a fluffy croissant. “If you are going to make up a false identity, why not go for something more flamboyant?”