by Peggy Waide
"He is a cursed man who sold his very soul to the devil. His past is absolutely scandalous, which forces him to a life of isolation. Even then, distance cannot end the tales of his wickedness."
"Aunt Hildegard, whatever are you talking about?"
"Bad blood runs in his veins, noble or not. Immoral. He dallies where he should not. He collects young boys for God knows what. The Badrick line is cursed and evil, that young man as bad as his relatives before him. He murdered his first wife when she failed to bear a daughter. His second wife fled for her life only to be hunted like an animal and killed. Those are only two instances, mind you. There are many others, but I will not sully my daughter's ears by repeating them."
"Goodness gracious, you don't believe any of that nonsense, do you?"
"That man will ruin you, and my family as well." The rigid set of Hildegard's body meant she believed every slanderous word she spoke. "Stay away from him. Do I make myself clear?"
Land sakes. Phoebe wanted nothing more than to stand her ground, but how on earth could she argue in the man's favor when she knew so little herself? Imagine. Murder? Wickedness? Curses? Swallowing her arguments along with the urge to champion the man, Phoebe bowed her head. Tomorrow was soon enough to begin her exploration into the past of Stephen Lambert, Duke of Badrick.
Sunbeams danced amid the leaves on the trees lining Park Lane as the carriage headed south toward the River Thames. Thankful to be outdoors and away from her aunt, Phoebe relaxed against the soft burgundy leather seat. For two days, she had suffered her aunt's relentless attacks on Lord Badrick's character and an onslaught of male visitors that rivaled the British siege of New Orleans. She deserved this little adventure. Besides, there were questions she planned to have answered before the day was through. But she knew the real cause of her excitement was the fact that she would see Stephen. She tipped her head to the sky, sighing audibly.
"You look as though you possess the world," said Elizabeth.
Lost in her haze of contentment, Phoebe said, "I declare, it is absolutely glorious to be free of that woman for the afternoon." She immediately realized she'd spoken her thoughts out loud. Her dislike for Hildegard was one thing, but to openly express her opinion of her family was terribly irresponsible, especially having just met Elizabeth. "Not Aunt Hildegard.. .1 mean..." She sat up straighter, as if the action might make her words more believable. "She tries the patience of a saint, but..."
Elizabeth's gentle laughter filled the carriage. Her face, surrounded by a large pink bow attached to her straw hat, glowed with kindness. "Do not fret so. Your aunt is not the most accommodating woman."
"True, but she is family and she is providing a place for me to stay. I should feel grateful."
"As does an abused horse when fed." Elizabeth's whitegloved hand swiftly covered her mouth. She shrugged her shoulders, removed her hand and said, "There I go. Let us drop the topic of your aunt altogether."
More than willing to forget her aunt's unpleasantness and enjoy the afternoon, Phoebe nodded as their carriage turned toward St. James Park, joining a sea of extravagant curricles and ordinary wagons. Electricity filled the air as people waved and laughed. Some silly fools even attempted to race one another in the crowd. Phoebe felt a brewing exhilaration all the way down to her toes. "My goodness, is everyone going to the race?"
"To be sure, but we're perfectly safe. Stephen and Winston rode ahead to secure us a spot. We'll join them soon enough."
"It's absolutely thrilling. It reminds me of holidays back home, which were really quite wonderful. There were picnics, horse and boating races, and dances. One of my daddy's favorites was the watermelon-eating contest." Knowing she would never again share such a moment with her father, or possibly even return home, Phoebe's excitement ebbed, her mood changing to wistfulness.
Elizabeth placed a dainty hand on Phoebe's. "I know how difficult this must be. When my father died, I missed him horribly. My mother told me I would always think of him, but one day the pain would leave, replaced by marvelous memories. It did. Then I met Winston. I trust you will find such happiness in England."
"I have hope."
"Splendid. Now, no more dreary thoughts. Tell me about your morning."
"It was downright tedious. Since word of my situation spread, I'm swamped with callers. Hildegard becomes more irritated, Charity crawls into herself like a poor baby bird afraid she'll trip or stumble or such, and my nanny sits in a corner, grumbling and grimacing. I simply find the mess exhausting. Lands alive, I never realized so many men lacked a title or funds."
Sunlight bounced off Elizabeth's pink parasol as it twirled in circles while she talked. "Please don't misunderstand me, but some men probably came out of curiosity. You are the current denier cri. The rage."
"What fiddle-faddle. Last night at the ball, I danced with a lord who wheezed the entire time while using his cane as a prop. After which he proposed. Only thing is, I wasn't sure if he was asking the marble statue he stood beside or me. Charity said he was fifty-two. Can you imagine? Why, just today I discussed the weather at least fourteen different times. My favorite card games and the flowers of my choice were also popular subjects. I made the grave mistake of mentioning Napoleon. You could have heard a mouse sneeze."
"Heaven forbid we should discuss such topics," Elizabeth confessed, "lest we embarrass ourselves."
"I fear I made an even worse mistake than that. I mentioned I read Dante's Inferno. Aunt Hildegard nearly fell from her chair. But I refuse to play an ignorant hen."
"Good for you. Thankfully, unlike many men, Winston enjoys intelligent conversation. Has anyone in particular garnered your attention?"
"Not the way I hoped. It's quite discouraging. Sir Lemmer hovers nearby at every opportunity, which pleases Aunt Hildegard to no end. Why just this morning, he intimidated poor Sir Ellwood, who really stopped by to visit Charity, into leaving after only five minutes. The poor fellow managed to exit without any accidents, but Sir Lemmer lingered a good hour." Remembering Lemmer's expression as he'd sat next to her, fuming like a jealous husband, she shivered. Real or imagined, the man's manner disturbed her in a most unpleasant way.
"Sir Lemmer has a rather unpleasant nature," said Elizabeth as she absently waved to a couple in a passing carriage. "I know for a fact that both Winston and Stephen dislike him, and Sir Lemmer despises Stephen. I recommend you look elsewhere for a spouse." Turning back to face Phoebe, Elizabeth said, "In fact, I am going to be a rude sneaky-beak and say I think you and Stephen might make a go of it. He needs a wife."
"I assure you, given my few encounters with the man, he'd disagree."
Elizabeth leaned forward, her parasol shading both women. "He has not been as preoccupied with a woman in years. He wants you but is afraid to take a chance. The stubborn fool is a dear friend of mine who seems doomed to isolation and loneliness. All of his own choosing. I, on the other hand, believe he deserves every ounce of happiness that comes his way."
Two deep notes resonated through the air as Big Ben signaled the new hour. Phoebe admired the distant gothic towers of Westminster Abbey, silently debating whether to pursue the topic of Stephen. She decided a better opportunity might not present itself, but she couldn't quite come out and ask if he had, in fact, murdered his first two wives. If he'd had two wives, she reminded herself. "How do you know Stephen so well?"
"Our estates bordered one another. Though he's ten years my elder, we spent a great deal of time together as children. When my father died, I moved to my mother's dower estate. I still saw Stephen from time to time. In fact, he introduced me to Winston, a debt I can never repay. Unless, perhaps, I can return the favor."
It was now or never. Remembering all of Hildegard's vile gossip, a part of Phoebe, perhaps her heart, wanted to discount everything she'd heard. At least Elizabeth, Stephen's friend, would tell the truth. "Has Stephen been married?"
"As a matter of fact, he was. Twice."
"What happened?"
Elizabeth concentra
ted on a flock of pigeons overhead, evidently considering Phoebe's request. She leaned against her seat and said, "I was only thirteen when Stephen married Emily. I think Stephen loved her for all the good and kindness she brought into his life. We moved away shortly thereafter. Emily died the next year. Two years later, he married Louisa. She died the following spring."
Nibbling her lower lip, Phoebe sucked in a deep breath, then forged ahead. "Did he murder them?"
Elizabeth's eyes rounded and her mouth snapped open, then shut.
"Oh, I'm sorry to just blurt that out, but I'm so confused and... well... my aunt said horrible things."
Recovering from her shock, Elizabeth gazed at the activity surrounding them, her lips pressed into a frown. "I imagine Hildegard filled your ears with a good deal of twaddle. Sometimes, my own peers irritate me so greatly I want to denounce them all. Unfortunately, when it comes to scintillating tidbits regarding the lives of other people, society has a long, if uninformed, memory. Stephen's desire for privacy fires speculation. Every time he comes to London, the gossip begins anew."
"Please. I need to know the truth."
"I'm not certain I can help. Stephen's rather taciturn about his past."
"The words mule-headed and shut-mouthed come to mind."
Elizabeth stared at Phoebe open-mouthed, then burst into laughter. "Dear Phoebe, I am so glad we met."
"I'm usually a tad more tactful, but I really do need to know. Did he murder them?"
"Of course not."
Thank goodness, thought Phoebe. She should have trusted her instincts all along. Stephen was not capable of murder. That meant there was a logical reason for all the rumors. "However did Emily die?"
"It was some sort of accident shortly after Emily birthed the Badrick heir. Stephen found her and the baby dead in the nursery. Or was it the bedroom?" She chewed on the tip of her finger.
"What of Louisa? Hildegard said she left Stephen and died as a result."
"Actually, I believe she fell down a flight of stairs one night. I'm sorry I'm not much help. I was in the country at the time and Stephen refuses to speak of it."
"Hildegard also mentioned a curse."
"Lud. Stephen speaks even less of that than his two dead wives."
Phoebe recognized Elizabeth's reluctance, unsure if she truly knew so little or whether she protected Stephen. Thus far, most of the information made Phoebe wonder even more about Stephen's past. She pressed on. "Surely you have more accurate information than my aunt."
"It has something to do with his great-grandfather and a gypsy woman, who cursed the Badrick men and their marriages."
"Does Stephen actually believe that malarkey?"
"When I was eight, Stephen showed me this lock of hair with ribbons in a trophy case. He said it was his heritage. I know his father believed it and became a bitter, nasty man. As for Stephen, if you live with unhappiness day after day, year after year, a part of you comes to believe anything even if you are otherwise an intelligent man." Impatiently throwing up her hands, Elizabeth added, "Whether the curse exists or not, he believes both women would be alive if not for him."
"Phooey. Do you believe in the curse?"
"I do know that no family deserves so much unhappiness. Perhaps I disbelieve because I wish the best for Stephen." Elizabeth twirled the handle of the parasol between her palms. "Since we seem to be speaking so openly, will you tell me something?"
"If I can."
"Do you love him?"
Hiding her hands in the folds of her blue linen skirt, Phoebe once again considered the question she had asked herself the last few days. "Can you love someone you barely know?"
The way Elizabeth waved her hand led Phoebe to believe she found the question ridiculous. Her eyes became dreamlike and her smile turned languid. She looked every bit the woman in love. "The moment I saw Winston I wanted to meet him. After three dances, four glasses of punch and one game of whist, I was madly in love."
Phoebe tried to define her feelings. She remembered the immediate kinship she felt for Stephen when they met in Wyman's study, the warmth that settled in the pit of her stomach, caused by a simple flash of his dark eyes, the heart-stopping reaction to their first kiss, the disappoint ment when he said he would never marry. No man had ever made her pulse beat so erratically or invaded her dreams as he did. "I find the man wildly attractive and equally aggravating. He's arrogant and secretive, kind and intelligent. He creeps into my mind throughout the day and night. I love his eyes. Heavens, I even find myself thinking about the way he says my name." She clasped her hands in her lap. "Would I be a fool to try and win his heart?"
"I hope you will try and succeed, but I must be candid. Stephen will resist. No matter how hard you try and even if you succeed in making him love you, I cannot guarantee you marriage. He's bloody stubborn about that. If he does marry you, there is no guarantee he will allow himself to love you. Yet, if you're able to break the iron band about his heart, and he allows himself the luxury of happiness, he would give you the world." Grinning, Elizabeth relaxed against the seat. "In fact, I will help in whatever way I can. Winston is hosting a country party in two weeks. Of course, Stephen will be there. You can spend the entire weekend proving to the man that you would make the perfect--"
Before Elizabeth could finish her sentence, the two women slid forward in their seats as the carriage abruptly stopped. Traffic had come to a complete halt. In the middle of the road, tied to a wooden cart laden with trinkets and food, sat a haggard old mule. A young boy, no more than six or seven, tugged at a long rope, trying his best to coax the animal into moving. The gathering crowd, dismayed and delayed by the obstinate animal, hurled insults and solutions to the problem. A man with arms the size of platters kicked the animal while shouting obscenities at the boy. "Lands alive, doesn't that fool know that mule can't carry all that weight?"
"He probably thought to take advantage of all the people attending the race."
Phoebe watched with growing trepidation as the owner, a heavy leather whip in his hand, stomped toward the boy. Tears fell down the lad's cheeks as he boldly jumped between the mule and the man, accepting the blow intended for the animal. The image of Nelda, a young slave back home, taking an undeserved lash, crept into Phoebe's mind. The pain Phoebe felt when she herself stepped in the direct path of the next blow surfaced as well.
Fury gnawed at her stomach. Without another thought, she climbed from the carriage, racing to the boy's side before a second blow fell.
"Phoebe!" Elizabeth yelled from the carriage before hopping down to follow.
With one elbow balanced on the pommel of his saddle, Stephen slapped his leather gloves across his thigh. "Where the devil do you suppose they are? They should have arrived a good fifteen minutes ago."
Winston squinted against the glare of the sun reflecting on the water. "It pleases me to see you in a state of anticipation, something I have not witnessed for a very long time. It gives me hope."
Stephen crossed his arms, unwilling to slip into a debate on a subject his friend had attempted to broach for the last hour. "Stow it, Winston."
"Is this the manner in which you entice all those women to your bed?"
"What women?"
"Precisely," Winston grinned, obviously satisfied he'd found an opening. "Since you practically live the life of a hermit and a monk. Perhaps if you softened that acerbic exterior of yours, you might not scare people away so easily." Shifting his eyes to Stephen, Winston added, "Including Miss Rafferty."
Growing more restless, Stephen began to pace, stopping now and again to survey the arriving curricles. "Let me worry about Phoebe."
"I intend to. I simply offer my assistance, my flair for diplomacy and negotiation should you desire it. How will you explain your illustrious ancestry? Phoebe's bound to hear a rumor or two or three."
"I imagine Elizabeth, whose machinations rival yours, disclosed all she knew which thankfully is little the moment she and Phoebe were alone. She'll be thrilled to
have been a part of what she deems the greater plan. My future."
"True. She does like to meddle."
Stephen briefly glanced at Winston, ready to remind his friend of the proper roles between men and women. What was the point? His friend was hopelessly in love. Stephen scanned the road and field once again. Frowning, he fisted his reins in his hand and, with a natural ease, swung onto the back of his horse. "Stay here. I'm going to ride back and see if I can find the ladies. Perhaps Cosgell got himself into trouble."
Keeping a tight rein on the stallion, Stephen slowly threaded through the crowd. Thank heavens he sat a horse rather than a carriage. After half a mile or so, the narrow road became less congested. When he rounded the bend, he witnessed chaos at its pinnacle. Stalled carriages were everywhere. At the center of the commotion was a mule that looked as though he belonged at heaven's gate. Scattered fruit littered the ground. A cart on the verge of losing the balance of its wares tilted precariously on one wheel. Lord Albuld, a pompous philistine, made a ribald comment to someone near the mule, which elicited chuckles and additional comments from the spectators.
"Thank you, sir, but I do not recollect asking your opinion in the matter. Kindly mind your own business."
The voice definitely female set the hairs on the back of Stephen's neck straight on end. He nudged Cavalier closer to the fray only to discover Phoebe, a leather whip in her hands, standing between a man twice her size and a small boy who had practically buried himself between her skirts and the mule. What the devil was the fool girl thinking? She could be trampled, or beaten, let alone disgraced in front of half the peers of London, who were occupying themselves by placing bets with one another from their carriages. And the brute of a man stood ready to attack.
Lord, she needed a keeper. Anger like a fever seeped into every fiber of his body. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled deeply, and tamped down the fear and his brewing temper. Slipping from his horse, he strode forward. Elizabeth, standing nearby, twisted her handkerchief in her hands. He should have known she would be close at hand. When she noticed his arrival, she had the audacity to wave. Unbelievable. Damn it to hell, both women needed keepers. Where the devil was the driver, Cosgell?