by Jane Feather
Her face paled, and the dream exploded. “You’re doing it again . . . prying and spying. Why? I told you everything you wanted to know.”
He sighed. “I was not spying, Alexandra. There was nothing underhand about it. I thought you would probably wish to know where your mother was living, how long she was staying in town, and maybe even what her circumstances are. On the principle of better the devil you know.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Was I right?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“No buts,” he declared. “You may cease your castigation forthwith, unless you don’t wish to know what I have discovered.” The smile in his eyes belied the mock sternness of his tone. He pulled the bell rope by the fireplace.
“You didn’t let her know it was me last night?” She couldn’t hide her anxiety.
He shook his head in reproof. “Don’t be silly, I didn’t speak to her myself, just asked a few questions of those who might know. The Contessa della Minardi is putting up at Grillons, a suitably fashionable spot and a most expensive one, I should add. Oh, Bart.” He turned to the door as the lad came in. “We’ll take breakfast in the parlor in half an hour. And bring me a tankard of ale up here as soon as possible, if you please.” The door closed behind the boy, and Peregrine resumed his account. “I gather she has been staying there without her husband for a week, and when the Count arrives, they are intending to travel to Paris.”
“Oh.” Alexandra stretched her toes to the fire, wriggling them in the warmth. “How did you find out?”
“I have an Aunt Anne who is a notorious gossip. She knows everything about anyone who is anyone . . . or who thinks they are,” he added with a sardonic smile. “And if there’s ever a breath of scandal attached, Anne’s interest is even more likely to be piqued. I reasoned that an Italian countess of dubious reputation would probably attract some attention in town, particularly as she goes out in public. And I was right. Anne knew everything there was to know about the Contessa. Of course, she wouldn’t acknowledge the lady in public; that would not do for a Blackwater at all.” The sardonic smile deepened.
Alexandra couldn’t help flushing. “She’s unlikely to acknowledge me, then.”
Perry regarded her for a moment with his head to one side. “Well, that remains to be seen, my dear. I am sure you bear little or no resemblance to your mother except physically. You are, if you don’t mind my pointing out, her living image.”
Alexandra looked down at her fingers curled in her lap. She had to acknowledge that, just as she had to acknowledge that she had found the realization pleasing the other day. There was nothing to be ashamed of in resembling an undeniable beauty, and her mother was ever that. “Well, for as long as she’s in town, I cannot go out,” she stated, moving the subject down a different path. “I must complete my business here as soon as possible and go back to Combe Abbey.”
Peregrine hesitated, wondering if this was the right moment, but maybe there was never a right moment. “You no longer need to continue with this criminal and dangerous charade, Alexandra. Take what you have, use it to ensure Sylvia’s well-being, and call it a day.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do that. I must finish what I began. How else am I to live?”
He scratched his ear, looking for the right words. “You will live with me. We will be married as soon as I can procure a license, and you will resume your real identity. No one will associate the downtrodden Mistress Hathaway with the wife of the Honorable Peregrine Sullivan. You’ll be free and clear.”
“For God’s sake, Peregrine!” she exclaimed, jumping up from the ottoman. “Didn’t you hear anything I said last night? You cannot marry a bastard, quite apart from my criminal activities in the last months.”
“I can marry whom I choose, ma’am,” he returned smartly. “As can you.” He looked at her in silence for a moment, watching her expression. It was difficult to read. Was there hope there? Or simply incredulity? He took a step towards her, his hands outstretched. “Love conquers all, they say, Alexandra. If you’ll let it.” He took her hands. They were cold, but her fingers twitched against his.
“Come, what do you say?” he pressed.
After a moment, she said so softly he could barely hear her, “I say ’tis a pipe dream.”
“Then indulge it.” He tipped her chin, looking deep into her eyes. “I promise it is no pipe dream. I wish to marry you more than anything I have ever wished for, Alexandra.”
“It will ruin you,” she stated flatly.
He shook his head, and now a flicker of laughter appeared in his eyes. “Not so, my dear. Oddly enough, it will do the opposite.”
“How?” She looked at him with an arrested expression.
He chuckled richly. “It is the most perfect concatenation of circumstance. Do you remember my mentioning my perverse Uncle Bradley and the devious conditions he has written into his will?”
Alex looked bewildered. She remembered something he had said about an uncle but hadn’t really taken it in. It hadn’t seemed particularly relevant. What could some Blackwater uncle have to do with herself and Peregrine?
“My uncle, Viscount Bradley, is a man of immense wealth. He was a nabob in India and the Far East and amassed a huge fortune. He is also debauched, even to the point of depravity, and he has taken it into his head to be avenged upon our somewhat straitlaced family for their ostracism by offering to leave his fortune to Blackwater, Sebastian, and myself in equal parts, on one condition.”
Alexandra gazed, fascinated, into the deep blue eyes fixed upon her countenance. “What condition?”
“That we each wed a fallen woman, for want of a better description.” This time, his laugh was short and humorless. “The idea, as I understand it, is that Bradley will force the family to accept a woman of neither status nor reputation into its holier-than-thou bosom. So far, Jasper and Sebastian have managed to find ways to satisfy that condition, but if I do not do so before our uncle’s death, then none of us will inherit. The devil of it is that Blackwater needs the money to tow the family out of the River Tick. Our father’s gambling debts and general profligacy have brought the estates to the verge of ruin. Bradley is prepared to settle all the mortgages on the estates, in addition to leaving the remainder of his fortune to the three of us.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with me.” Alexandra sounded as confused as she felt.
“My dear girl, it has everything to do with you. You are illegitimate, and by your own description, you are an embezzler and a thief. How more unsuitable could you be as a Blackwater bride? Something, I may remind you, that you have pointed out to me in no uncertain terms. And to put the icing on the cake, I love you. There will never be anyone else I could ever wish to marry.”
She gazed at him, stunned, as she absorbed his words. “Oh, Perry, ’tis absurd.”
“The entire situation is absurd,” he declared roundly. “But the old man holds all the cards. So, Mistress Douglas, marry me and save the Blackwaters.”
“I had thought to be just your mistress,” she said, considering. If she could contemplate one, why not the other? Both would give her a loving life with Peregrine. “Once I’d completed my work at Combe Abbey, I had thought we could set up house, and I wouldn’t object if you chose to marry someone—”
“Enough!” he bellowed, giving her shoulders an inadvertent shake. “How insulting can you be? I do not want a mistress, any mistress. I want and need a wife. And I want you. Now, your answer, if you please.”
Why not? She felt a little jolt of excitement. Maybe everything could work out in the end, once this tangle was unraveled. “You are very persuasive, sir.” She dropped him a mock curtsy. “How could I refuse such a tempting and elegantly phrased offer?”
“Hornet,” he said appreciatively.
“But I must finish my work at Combe Abbey first,” she said, and all warmth and appreciation fled from his countenance. “I have to ensure my own independence and Sylvia’s.”
“That is not necess
ary,” he stated, tight-lipped.
“Yes, it is,” she responded simply. “I will not let injustice stand. Stephen owes us our portions, and he will pay them. He just won’t know that he’s done so.”
Abruptly he swung away from her and stalked to the window, standing with his back to her until he had himself under control. “And if I will not permit you to do this?”
“You will not have that right,” she said simply. “I will marry you after I’ve completed my work.”
Peregrine wrestled with himself for long minutes while she stood where he had left her, unmoving, quiet, her hands clasped against his robe, waiting. Finally, he turned back to the room and said curtly, “We’ll leave it there for the moment. Get dressed and come down for breakfast. I am sharp set.” He left the chamber, the door clicking shut behind him. It wasn’t a slam, but it was definitely expressive of irritation.
Alexandra took a deep breath that was more like a shuddering sigh. She should be feeling so happy; indeed, a moment ago, she had been. It was an extraordinary solution, one she wanted more than anything in the world, but she could not bring herself to abandon something over which she had sweated so much blood, so many tears, so many terrifying moments. Even if she could give up her own portion, she could not leave Sylvia destitute. Even if Perry swore to support her sister, she knew that Sylvia’s pride would resist such an offer as strongly as her own. Maybe she could compromise. Tell Peregrine that she would continue her charade only until she had enough for her sister and Matty to live in comfort for as long as needed.
She washed and dressed in the pink silk gown, thinking of how to convince him.
Breakfast was laid out in the parlor, but she saw no one as she made her way downstairs. The fire burned brightly in the parlor, and enticing aromas arose from the covered dishes. Peregrine was lifting the lids of the dishes and glanced over his shoulder as she came in. “What may I serve you, ma’am? Eggs, bacon, mushrooms, kidneys . . . ?”
“Just an egg, please.” She poured coffee and sat down at the table. “Thank you.” She offered a tentative smile as he placed a plate in front of her.
He nodded briefly before heaping a plate with mushrooms, kidneys, and bacon for himself. He reached for the ale jug and poured himself a tankard, buttered a hunk of wheaten bread, and began to eat.
“I own I’m surprised that my mother is still married to the Count,” Alex observed, trying to lighten the mood.
“She is still using his name and title, so one must assume that she is.”
Alex’s laugh was cynical. “It probably means that she has not yet found a good enough substitute.”
“You really do loathe her, don’t you?” Peregrine regarded her across the table with a slight frown, wondering if this extreme depth of feeling was what lay beneath her powerful need for justice.
“She is responsible for ensuring that her daughters are destitute,” she said fiercely, her gray eyes burning now with the years of accumulated anger and bitterness. “And she didn’t give a damn. What am I supposed to like about that?”
“Nothing, of course,” he said, his voice mild. “My own mother was a recluse and had nothing to do with us as children, so I understand how you feel, to a certain extent.”
“Oh?” She sat forward in her chair. “Tell me about it.”
Perry shrugged. “Our father died when Jasper was about eleven, so he became the fifth Earl while he was still at school. Seb and I were six or thereabouts. Our mother became an invalid; she shut herself up in a wing of the house and never saw us. I don’t think she even asked after us. We were cared for by a succession of nursery maids, our affairs controlled by trustees. We were sent away to school a year later, where, thank God, we had Jasper to look after us.”
He smiled, remembering. “Jasper stood up for us, protected us from the worst of the bullying, fought our battles while teaching us to fight them ourselves. Eventually, of course, we were able to stand on our own feet. But in essence, we were orphans throughout our childhood.”
“But you had your elder brother,” she said softly.
“Yes. And you only had yourself, and your sister was your responsibility. I understand that, Alexandra.”
“She still is.” She looked at him with a plea in her gray eyes. “I must complete that responsibility, Peregrine. Please understand that. I promise I will no longer fight for justice for myself, but I must ensure that Sylvia is taken care of whatever might happen to me.”
Peregrine sighed. “And you won’t allow me to assume responsibility for you both?”
“No.” It was a flat negative, and he understood that he had reached point non plus.
“Well, for the moment, we’ll leave it there,” he temporized. He had no intention of accepting her condition, but nothing would be gained by butting heads with her now. He sipped his ale, then said, “Since you have, in principle, anyway, agreed to marry me, would you be willing to do me a favor this morning?”
“Of course,” she said swiftly. “Whatever you would like.” She could deny him nothing when he was willing to accept her own need.
He smiled, crumbling a piece of bread between his fingers. “I would like you to accompany me on a visit to my Uncle Bradley.”
“Your uncle?” Alexandra looked horrified, remembering what he’d said about the man. “Why?”
“Well, I have to present him with my entirely unsuitable choice for a bride. And the sooner ’tis done, the better for everyone.”
“But we will not marry yet,” she pointed out.
“I would like to establish the fact and your credentials with my uncle,” he said patiently. “It will be a weight off everyone’s mind. But if the idea alarms you—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I mean, it’s a little scary after what you’ve told me about him, but since ’tis part of the plan, then, of course, I will do whatever you wish.”
He nodded, and there was a gleam in his eye. “In fact, you might find the idea rather appealing, since it involves another part for you to play. And you are a consummate actress, my sweet.”
Alex looked for a sting in the words but felt none. He seemed to be genuinely amused by his idea. “Go on,” she prompted.
“For the visit to my uncle, I would have you don those breeches you wore in Lymington—a guise, my dear, that is most enticing. We shall see how it plays with the old man.”
Alexandra pondered this for a moment and then nodded with a little chuckle. She would find it much easier to deal with the fearsome uncle if she was acting. It was just another part, tailored to suit a particular situation. And she was adept at such playacting. “You’ll have to direct me how to play it.”
Peregrine smiled. “I will do that on the way. But first, you must fetch your costume. I’ll send Bart to summon a hackney. Tell him to wait at Berkeley Square for you, and he can bring you back here to change.”
Billings greeted her return to the house with a characteristic sniff. “Letters come for you.” He gestured to the hall table, where two sealed letters lay on a tarnished silver salver.
“Thank you.” She snatched them up and hurried up to her bedchamber, reading the letters as she went. Andrew Langham, on behalf of Lord Dewforth, would do himself the honor of visiting her at three of the clock that afternoon. And Mr. Murdock would do himself the same honor, one hour later. She would have to come straight back here after the visit to Lord Bradley.
She bundled up her male costume, thrust it into a small cloak bag, and hurried back to the waiting hackney.
Chapter Seventeen
Back in Stratton Street, Alexandra dressed in the breeches and jacket. She twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head and crammed the cap over it, pulling the brim low.
“How do I look?”
“Delicious,” Peregrine said. He’d been watching the transformation with a lascivious gleam in his eye. “Let’s go before I yield to temptation and ravish you on the spot.”
She laughed delightedly, loving the lustful light in his e
yes. It made her feel both desirable and powerful, two sensations that hitherto were unfamiliar to Mistress Alexandra Hathaway. She followed him downstairs and out to the waiting hackney. The jarvey’s eyebrows disappeared into his scalp when he saw his two passengers emerging from the house. The well-dressed young lady he’d taken to Berkeley Square appeared to have undergone some considerable transformation. He shrugged. It was none of his business, and the pair was providing him with a lucrative morning’s work.
Peregrine gave him the address and jumped into the carriage behind Alexandra. “The secret to handling Viscount Bradley is to show no sign of discomposure,” he began as soon as the vehicle began to move. “He will do everything he can to discompose you, and if he senses the tiniest crack in your armor, he’ll pry it loose until ’tis a gaping hole.”
“An unpleasant image,” Alex murmured with a shiver of distaste.
“He’s a thoroughly unpleasant person. He’ll probably have in attendance a truly pathetic victim of his malice, Father Cosgrove. He’s my uncle’s personal priest and father confessor.” Perry gave a short, sardonic laugh. “Bradley is forcing the poor man to act as his amanuensis as he writes his memoirs. Disgusting, lascivious, and perverted they are, too. He may oblige you to read some portion. If he does, you should do so without objection, but whatever you do, do not show him that they affect you in any way at all. Treat them as the disgusting fantasies of a perverted mind, beneath contempt.”
“And this man holds you and your brothers in the hollow of his hand?” she asked in wonder.
Peregrine’s mouth thinned, and his eyes took on a glacial cast. “Thanks to our father’s profligacy, he does. Blackwater won’t see the estates destroyed and the family honor with them. Bradley holds the winning card, so we must play to it.” He regarded her through slightly narrowed eyes. “Does that make any sense to you?”
“You could say ’tis similar to what I am doing myself,” she returned. “Stephen holds the winning card, and I am playing to it to win freedom and justice for my sister and myself.”