Winthrop Trilogy Box Set

by Burnett, May

  Well. Here they were again, two years wasted – from his point of view, though she probably had made good use of the time. She was dallying with German officers and lingering, inexplicably, in a spa catering to the middle-aged and elderly. Its waters were supposed to do wonders for rheumatism and ulcers. Barnaby would bet his last coin that Milla did not suffer from either complaint.

  “Have the waters here done anything for your health?” he asked.

  “Not that I could tell, and the taste is rather off-putting. But of course I am not an invalid, so that means nothing.”

  Where was that worthless companion of hers? Milla might claim to have sent her off, but what good was a companion, if not to shield her mistress from cads like this Major Kepler? A fortune hunter if Barnaby had ever seen one. Kepler was not as superannuated as most other men in this place, but Milla could do better. And what was that business they had spoken of? A gentleman did not call upon a lady to conduct business matters with her.

  As he talked to Milla, Barnaby had to exert his utmost control not to let his disapproval and suspicion shine through. He had the lowering suspicion that he was not altogether successful. His eyes could not move away from her, and though he kept his outward reserve, his heart was pumping far more rapidly than usual. Every part of his body was taking notice of the lovely woman in his sights.

  “The rental horses are decent, then? Do you use them regularly?” That she was willing to ride out with him, alone, was a good sign. He looked forward to lifting her onto the saddle.

  Milla had been well-dressed in London, but now she resembled a fashion-plate, elegant and stylish in a way she had not been then. The colours of her morning dress were calculated to bring out the blue of her eyes, and echo the contrast of her milk-white skin and near-black hair. The greatest difference, however, lay in the way she wore her clothes, with utmost confidence and ease, and the effortless poise she had acquired since he had last seen her. This was a woman, no longer a girl, a beautiful woman at the height of her power, and conscious of it. The kind of siren who could enslave a susceptible man without trying, and Barnaby Winthrop was very susceptible indeed where she was concerned.

  He was doomed.

  With an effort, he tore his gaze from her face and bosom, and studied her gloveless hands. She wore a flat-cut diamond there, partly covering the small wedding ring that identified her as a widow, but no other jewels. Well, it was early yet, only half-past eleven. Fashionable visiting hours were not until later in the day, but in his impatience Barnaby had hurried over to her lodgings as soon as he’d freshened up after his arrival. And yet this Major had been here before him, curse him. Was Milla on such familiar terms with the scoundrel that he had the run of her place at any hour of the day? He preferred not to think of the nights, or black jealousy would constrict his throat, and he could not keep up his end of the conversation.

  “That lake sounds delightful,” he replied. “And so does the ruined castle and the forest spring.” How beautifully animated Milla’s face was, as she described the area’s sights! He would ride right into hell with her, had she proposed it.

  Was she in trouble? Were that ring and the elegant gown paid for? Did she stay in this place because she liked it, or because it was relatively cheap? These furnished lodgings on the first floor of a smallish townhouse were respectable, but not large. Milla deserved a more elegant setting.

  The door opened and a good-looking brunette of perhaps thirty-five swept in. One look at her, and Barnaby saw whence Milla had acquired her new sense of style; this lady was her superior still, though her dark grey gown was more modest in cut and colour. The angle at which she had pinned her hat, the shape of the small net on it, were just so. So this was the dangerous Madame Rallien.

  Milla performed introductions. “I have heard about your family,” the Frenchwoman said in perfect English, not a shadow of an accent marring her pronunciation. “That all of you are tall and blond. I see it is indeed so.”

  “I suppose we breed true to our Viking ancestors,” Barnaby said. “You are from Paris, Madame? I have also heard some things about you. Your late husband was a Colonel loyal to Bonaparte, is that right?”

  She stiffened for an instant. “Indeed. Where have you heard that?”

  “My father recognised the name, from his work during the war.”

  She did not look at all guilty or conscious. “Alas, that is all over. We were on different sides then, but the past is best forgotten.”

  “Indeed so,” Milla said, frowning slightly. “Veronique and I do not let such considerations mar our friendship.”

  From what he could tell, she was sincere, but even a clever woman like Milla might fall under the spell of a master of manipulation, as he judged this older widow to be. Veronique Rallien had over a decade and a lifetime of experience on her. If she was dangerous to Milla, it might be difficult to extricate his beloved from her companion’s clutches.

  “Then I hope we too can become friends,” he said to the Frenchwoman, smiling. She must not know he suspected her, and it would do his cause with Milla no good to make an enemy of the woman at this stage.

  Chapter 12

  The seller of Peruvian mine shares proved to be the Major’s valet, whom Louis had immediately recognised despite a loudly chequered coat and an impressively bushy grey beard. He introduced himself as Herr Rosenfeld, and assured Milla and Veronique, who hovered close with a disapproving frown, that he could be summarily dismissed for selling her these particular shares before the official offering at the stock market. At his earnest plea, Milla promised to keep the matter confidential until that date.

  He handed over the shares, prettily engraved on blue paper, and departed with two hundred gulden. The ladies watched him leave in silence. Had the vendor turned out to be an unknown conspirator, Louis would have followed him, but they knew he would head back to the Hotel Bitterschwarm.

  “They certainly take me for a fool,” Milla complained. “And if they decamp with my hundred gulden, I shall actually be one. Do you have any idea how long a fisherman could live on that?”

  “They won’t. This is a traditional part of such swindles,” Veronique reassured her. “Remember the fellow in Innsbruck? That was a smaller sum you risked, to be sure, but the first venture is always successful. I am willing to bet you five gulden here and now that you’ll get your money back, with a profit, by next week.”

  “Why do they need to go through with all the usual steps, when they believe I am already pliant through Doktor Rabenstein’s mesmerism? It would be easier to pretend they want money for some charity, as they did with Frau von Martenstein.”

  “Would you give five or ten thousand pounds for charity? Would anyone believe you did so of your own free will? They are after bigger game in your case.”

  Milla rubbed her right ear in deep thought. “Do we have any news on Kepler’s background yet? His courtship of me has been very perfunctory since our return from Munich. I have the feeling he is no longer interested in matrimony.”

  “If he learned that you have tied up your fortune in a trust for your sole benefit, inaccessible to any future husband, that news might put him off. But I don’t see how he could possibly be aware of that.”

  “Nobody must learn of it,” Milla warned. “Including Mr. Winthrop. I want him to think that I have lost part of my fortune, that he is richer than I now, and I need his help.”

  “Hmm.” Veronique pursed her lips. “When I suggested that you appeal to his sense of chivalry, I did not mean to imply that you should actively mislead or trick him, Milla. I’m not sure that would be a good basis for marriage, which ought to be based on mutual trust.”

  “I’ll tell him everything as soon as I’ve got his ring on my finger.”

  “You are making a serious mistake. If you like Winthrop well enough for marriage, why not trust him beforehand? When he discovers you deceived him, he may never forgive or fully trust you. What kind of marriage would that be? I like him, too, and I entreat
you to reconsider.”

  “You like him?” Milla focused on the most interesting part of her companion’s speech. “He is very handsome, is he not?”

  “Yes, if you like the blond, blue-eyed type. Of course, for me no man is more handsome than Louis. But apart from his good looks, though I do not know Mr. Winthrop well, my impression is of a good-hearted, honest, and loyal man. There are not many of that kind still single, and I advise you not to let him slip through your fingers. But do be careful how you go about it.”

  Seeing Barnaby again had only confirmed Milla’s certainty that he was the only man she could tolerate in her bed, the only one to whom she could imagine permitting those shocking liberties that Veronique insisted could be the highest form of pleasure.

  She had waited long enough. In a few weeks she would reach the advanced age of twenty-two. If Milla were an unmarried lady, she would be considered on the shelf. She had wasted enough time on a first marriage that only existed on paper. And had she not dedicated herself to the search for new experiences and sensations? Love play was one experience that seemed overdue.

  In fact, did she have to wait until they were married? If it turned out that she disliked intimacy, it might be better to know beforehand and avoid marriage altogether. She rather thought she might come to like it with Barnaby, but from numerous ladies she had met during her peregrinations, she had heard horror stories of insensitive, downright brutal boors. The majority of older ladies who would talk of the subject at all were thankful not to be bothered with it any longer. A Mrs. Grimshaw, whom Milla had befriended in Vienna, had even expressed gratitude towards her husband’s mistress, for relieving her of the unwanted burden. Putting together all she had gleaned, some women like Veronique enjoyed sex, but many, perhaps most, did not. In light of such conflicting reports, it might be wise to proceed cautiously.

  Yet, if they became lovers without benefit of clergy, would Barnaby still want to marry her? Especially if he thought that she had lost all or part of her fortune? If not, it might be preferable to know the worst, before she made the mistake of tying herself to him permanently. Call it a test of sorts. She had little to lose.

  Except, of course… intimacy often had lasting consequences. What if they separated after a romantic interlude, and she found herself with child in the aftermath? But since Veronique had been able to evade such a result for years on end, there had to be a way to prevent that. If she married Barnaby, of course, she would not mind giving him a child or two.

  They would live in England, she supposed, but she would insist on travelling from London, preferably to the Continent, at least once a year. A sessile existence led to dull complacency, and a narrowness of outlook that its victims did not even recognize until foreign travel taught them better. England was too small to hold her for good. There were other continents to explore… all but Australia, by all accounts fit only for convicts. Though some of the islands in the general region were said to be pretty enough…

  “What are you thinking about, with that dreamy expression?” Veronique interrupted her musings. “You’d better think hard how you want to attach your young man. Should I leave you alone, or make him more eager by putting obstacles in his path?”

  “I was thinking of having an affair with him before we marry,” Milla confessed. “To discover if I actually like that part of marriage.”

  Veronique shook her head again. “You will shock him. Gentlemen separate women in two groups – the ones they sleep with outside of matrimony, and the virtuous ladies they marry and do not touch beforehand. For widows the rules are somewhat more relaxed, but to allow him access to your body before you are at least engaged will only confuse Mr. Winthrop, and destroy his faith in your virtue.”

  “You think he is that rigid? That he won’t respect me afterwards?”

  “I do not know him well enough to be certain, but there is a distinct danger of that.”

  Milla grimaced. Veronique knew far more about men than she did, but could Barnaby really be so intolerant? “He won’t think less of himself for taking me up on the offer, I suppose?”

  “Of course not. Young gentlemen measure their own actions by a completely different, infinitely more lenient yardstick. Accepting a lady’s invitation to spend the night is the most normal thing in the world to them, and yet they go home despising the lady, more often than not.”

  “For all Barnaby can know, I may have had a dozen lovers already.”

  “If he thinks so, depend upon it, he won’t offer marriage.”

  Milla wanted to punch something. If she had been seventeen she would have, but the precepts and examples of Abigail and Veronique had had their effect, and she contented herself with a small kick at the table leg.

  “Don’t overthink this, Milla, and don’t approach the matter like one of the swindles we expose. With honest, open people a very different attitude is called for.”

  “Perhaps I’ll try that, then,” Milla said doubtfully.

  Veronique made an impatient gesture. “This hesitation is not like you, Milla. Normally you charge straight ahead, devil take the consequences. Why are you so worried about this young man’s reactions, what he thinks of you? I thought you despised love. Caring so much about anyone’s good opinion is also a kind of dependence, is it not?”

  Milla could not dispute it. She did not understand herself. Since the moment Barnaby Winthrop had invaded her Regensbad lodgings, she had felt off-balance, uncertain of the best way forward. It was one thing to imagine their reunion in London, with every word carefully thought out beforehand; this was here and now, and she had already risked their relationship once, by ill-considered and impulsive action.

  Veronique was right, it should not have mattered so much. Yet it did, and Milla did not like the implications. Was she so weak, where he was concerned? Would Barnaby bring her low, leave her to wallow in black melancholy if matters did not proceed as she hoped? Why should this young man, out of the hundreds she had met, have such an outsize influence on her? It was not right, it was not fair.

  To the devil with ladylike reserve. Milla punched the pillow on the settee, and again for good measure.

  Chapter 13

  Barnaby did not greatly relish the table d'hôte of the Hotel Bitterschwarm. Dinner featured, amongst other offerings, big round dumplings and minced meat mixed with rice, rolled up in boiled cabbage leaves. From the hearty appetite and approbation with which his fellow guests devoured these, he gathered that it was standard local fare, welcome through long familiarity. Very likely, these same guests would turn up their foreign noses at popular English dishes.

  He decided not to discuss his views with those few guests whose French was sufficiently fluent. They were talking in German among themselves, and Barnaby did not understand more than a word in ten. It was a wonder they understood each other, for to his ear they were speaking quite disparate dialects. Perhaps he should have brought his brother Theodore after all. How was he supposed to find out about Milla’s mysterious troubles if he could not talk to the people here? How fluent was her German? He had not thought to ask.

  Major Kepler was seated a few places down the table from him, and certainly seemed to find no fault with the pork ribs and vegetables on his plate. At the conclusion of the meal, he approached Barnaby with an affable smile. “They keep very early hours here. I’m off to the garden for a cigar; will you join me, Mr. Winthrop?”

  Since the man might be the only one with fluent English here, and Barnaby wanted to find out more about his relationship to Milla, he repressed his immediate repugnance and accepted the invitation. He was not fond of smoking, but could endure one cigar in the interest of gathering intelligence. The Major offered him a thick brown specimen that must have cost a pretty penny. Barnaby thanked him and pretended to enjoy it.

  “Let’s put our cards on the table,” the German said, after they had puffed in silence for two minutes. “You would not have come so far after your beautiful relative if your interest in her were platonic
.”

  Barnaby shrugged but vouchsafed no answer to this impudence. What business was it of the Major’s?

  “I too am an admirer of Lady Fenton,” the Major continued, unruffled by Barnaby’s reaction. “What do you say in such situations – may the best man win?”

  “You seem very confident,” Barnaby said gruffly. The Major was as tall and at least as muscular as himself, and if he tried to knock him down, as he felt a strong impulse to do, he could not be sure of coming off the victor. Besides you could not do that after accepting a man’s cigar, without stronger provocation.

  Major Kepler gave a light laugh, displaying his very white teeth. “With a woman that beautiful and rich, it would be foolish to take anything for granted. Lady Fenton has honoured me with her friendship and confidence, and I hope for more than that.” He took on a grave look. “But I don’t want to bore you with my aspirations. I appeal to you as a concerned relative, to help me separate that cursed Frenchwoman from Lady Fenton’s side. She is dangerous, and will bleed her dry if she is allowed to.”

  “Really? How so?” Perversely, this warning made Barnaby feel better disposed towards Madame Rallien. If she had stymied the Major’s pursuit, that was all too the good. Perhaps he had wronged her in his thoughts earlier in the day.

  “I understand she comes from a family of notorious swindlers and mountebanks,” Kepler said, lowering his voice. “No good can come from any association with such a person. I have done my best to warn Lady Fenton, who has assured me that she would love to dismiss the woman. Unfortunately, Madame Rallien seems to have some hold on her that does not allow Lady Fenton to act freely in the matter.”

  “Good heavens!” Was this the difficulty Milla had obliquely referred to in her letter?