by Janet Kent
And he’d put himself in a position where she expected him to supply it. Wonderful.
Ian glanced out the open window to his left. The unmistakable sound of rolling wheels rumbled past. The sporadic sunlight speared through the clouds before another drizzle sprinkled the city. From this height, he could see nothing but the row of houses opposite.
Ian shook his head. Romance.
Next time, he would bring her a real flower. Perhaps a rose, a deep pink tint to match the color he imagined those delectable lips. Ian ignored the traitorous pang of guilt at the thought of buying an innocent girl’s silence by dancing false attendance in order to exploit her naivety.
The faster he achieved his goal, the faster everything else dominoed into place: Ian stood, reminded of the need to sort through tonight’s invitations.
He could not allow mere conscience to prevent justice and his subsequent return to Heatherley. After all, his lies were for the sake of good. Exonerating Chadwick benefited all his dependents, not just the ice queen Miss Kinsey.
Next time, he was definitely taking that frame.
###
“I am glad you suggested a stroll,” Beatrix said with a brisk nod. “It’s just the thing after a long nap.”
Alicia adjusted her aunt’s shawl. She closed the wrought-iron gate behind them, breathing in the earthy scent of the garden. She hadn’t napped. While Beatrix slept the afternoon away, Alicia stared at the roof of her canopy bed thinking about her rogue.
Wildflowers.
Where had he gotten them? Spring had not yet worked much magic on their garden. Although the bushes and plants grew green in the damp, dark soil, the flowers had yet to bloom.
Wildflowers, she reasoned, grew in the wild. He hadn’t bought them. He must have gone looking for them just for her, even though he could not be certain he would ever see her again. How romantic was a gesture like that? The sweetness of such an action infused her cheeks with heat. Thank heavens she could blame the color on the cold wind stinging her face.
She might have stayed abed. Stayed abed and missed the fire that swept across her body when her fingertips touched his. Alicia shivered and clutched her pelisse closer.
For a moment, she thought he might kiss her. For a moment, she had even wished it.
What would she have done? Alicia shot a guilty glance in the direction of the house. She might have experienced her first kiss. Encouraged such a liberty. Craved his touch. The warmth in her cheeks increased.
Rogue personified forbidden desire. He was a secret. Her secret. If he had kissed her, no one would be the wiser. Alicia bit her lip. She almost wished he would have. At least his interest in her was honest.
She tilted her head as a bird flew overhead and landed on a branch high atop the tree. The grass crumpled underfoot as she took another step forward. She craned her neck. The robin worked steadily on his nest then soared away again into the sky.
To some degree, Rogue also represented romance. Granted, the flowers had fallen apart the instant he’d produced them. The corners of Alicia’s mouth twitched and she grinned at the garden. Although his offering had disintegrated in his hand, his intentions had been pure. When had Louis ever brought her flowers?
Alicia’s smile evaporated. She could indulge in romantic fantasies featuring Rogue much more freely if she were not so worried about Louis.
Blast that prig, for making her feel forced to keep a companion in order to protect herself from his machinations. Great-aunt Beatrix bent over a bush, checking its branches for tiny buds. Alicia enjoyed spending time in the garden with her aunt.
Beatrix wobbled to her feet and turned bright eyes toward Alicia. “Buds!” she crowed. “The bushes are beginning to blossom. The garden will be beautiful before we know it.”
Alicia crossed to her aunt’s side and wrapped an arm around her bony shoulders.
“Excellent. We will have to make frequent visits out of doors in order to monitor Spring’s progress.”
“Fresh air is wonderful,” Beatrix agreed. “Sewing little scenes and reading from books can never replace the real world.”
Beatrix turned toward the next rosebush and Alicia’s arm fell back to her side.
What a great idea. Her ploy of being simply boring had driven Louis away for the moment. Perhaps if she intensified her role to that of a know-all – an opinionated bluestocking with something to say about everything, and all of it gleaned from books – forever would seem an excruciating length of time to be leg-shackled to a wife. Any facts she didn’t know, she could invent as she went along.
Brilliant. Should Louis be the one to decide not to marry her, Papa could hardly prevent her from looking elsewhere. With luck, she would soon be the wife of a man who loved her.
Alicia pivoted until she caught sight of her aunt. She watched Beatrix for long moments before she decided to speak.
“Aunt?”
“Yes, ducky?”
“Did you ever regret… Mr. Armitage?”
Beatrix straightened. “Charles? Never.” She looked Alicia in the eye. “No matter what you may have heard about that time, I have not one ounce of regret for the love we shared.”
Alicia nodded. “May I ask what really happened?”
Great-aunt Beatrix stared at the garden as if she ceased to see it. Alicia had almost decided to retract the question when her aunt finally responded.
“My brother Eustace – your grandfather – inherited the title young. Our parents had more debt than we realized and our family desperately needed money. I was of an age. I had attracted the attention of a wealthy, older gentleman and was in a position where a timely marriage could solve our problems.”
Alicia hesitated. “I thought Mr. Armitage was a young man at the time.”
Beatrix smiled. “He was. Many balls were given honoring the soldiers preparing to go to war. I met him at one of these shortly before my parents died. He was beautiful, kind, passionate. Everything I wanted. The attraction was mutual.”
Alicia stared. The rumors she’d heard hadn’t touched the complexity of the issue.
“One evening, we bribed a footman and snuck away from a crowded ballroom. Charles told me he knew he should speak to my brother first, but he could no longer keep his love inside and wanted to know if I’d do him the honor of becoming his wife.”
“How romantic,” Alicia breathed.
Her aunt’s gnarled hands clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“Of course I said yes. How could I not? The next morning, he planned to present himself to my brother. But that night, when I returned home, I learned about our debts and the plan to marry me to a man of means in order to save the family.”
Alicia swallowed. “What did you do?”
Beatrix stared at the rosebushes.
“I told Eustace I was in love, of course. I told him I’d rather be penniless and happy than wealthy and miserable. I told him to expect Charles first thing in the morning.”
“Did he come and pledge his love?” asked Alicia breathlessly.
Her aunt shook her head. “He wasn’t given a chance. I was underage and needed my brother’s consent. Eustace said he’d murder him before he allowed such a marriage to wreck our family. He was seated in the great room with the wealthy gentleman in question, who looked rather shocked by the proceedings thus far. However, he was still willing to marry me.”
Alicia frowned. “But he did not.”
“He did not. I claimed I was no longer pure, and he refused to have me. Eustace was incensed. He sent an immediate letter to Charles, requesting to meet him at dawn for a duel. I bribed a footman and escaped. I took a hackney cab to meet Charles and told him what had happened. Eustace was an excellent shot and would have killed him without hesitation.
“I begged him to leave early with his troops and to come back as soon as the war was over, as I was likely to be of age by then and no longer under my brother’s rule. We sobbed, and proclaimed our unending love. I stayed with him that night
and my earlier lie became a reality.
“Early the next morning, we said our goodbyes. I took a hack back home and met Eustace’s fury at the door. I was beaten and locked in my room for several months.
“When I was finally allowed out, I discovered Eustace had married a reclusive heiress. I don’t know if they had ever liked each other, but by the time I met her they were no longer speaking. Shortly thereafter, they were graced with the baby who would become your father.
“When Eustace released me from my room, he said I was no longer a danger to myself. Charles had survived the duel, but died in battle. Eustace said it was what I deserved.
“I slapped him. He did not respond.” Beatrix paused. “He never spoke to me again.”
Eyes damp, Beatrix turned back to the rosebushes, the sun to her slender back.
Alicia felt her throat constrict in pity and horror. A tear trickled down her aunt’s tired face. Alicia’s bonnet fell from her head as she enveloped her aunt in a fierce hug. After a moment, she felt Beatrix wrap her thin arms around her back.
“I’m so sorry, Aunt,” Alicia whispered.
“Don’t be sorry, child. I knew love. How many people can say that?” Beatrix stroked her hair. “I hope you are one of them.”
“I hope I fall in love with someone who will save us both,” Alicia said fervently.
Beatrix pushed away until she could see Alicia’s face.
“Don’t wait for a man to save you, honey.” She reached up and placed one warm, wrinkled palm against Alicia’s wet cheek. “You can only save yourself.”
Alicia wished saving herself were a little easier. She forced herself to smile. “I understand, Aunt.”
Beatrix nodded and placed her hand on the crook of Alicia’s elbow. “Shall we get some tea?”
“Yes, of course.”
She turned to lead her aunt toward the house when a heavily perfumed figure in orange and purple stripes strutted into the garden, letting the gate bang closed behind him.
“I see you brought your dotty old aunt along to play duenna,” he cooed in his high-pitched voice. “Clever, clever.”
Alicia stiffened. She had best not let Louis believe staging a compromising situation was a necessary tactic. Beatrix patted her arm but made no response.
“We’re heading back inside, Louis. Please enjoy the garden,” Alicia said in an icy tone, helping Beatrix navigate the winding path.
He inched his nose higher into the air. “Where’s your bonnet, cousin? You certainly need something to cover that unfortunate yellow hair. It’s so light that it looks white. I don’t want my future wife looking ready for her deathbed.”
Alicia ground her teeth. “I may be close to being on the shelf, but I’m far from old age, Louis.”
“My hair turned white years ago,” said Beatrix, “and I’m not anywhere near my deathbed.”
Louis raised an eyebrow and smirked.
Her entire body shook as rage coursed through Alicia’s veins. It was impossible to imagine playing wife to a shameless scab like Louis ten days hence. A creature like him would never change. She elbowed her way past him, guiding great-aunt Beatrix through the gate. She refrained from slapping him when he pulled her hair as she walked by, although she “accidentally” trod on his foot.
His unrepentant cackle followed her into the house.
CHAPTER SIX
“A lady always wears a bonnet when out-of-doors,” Louis lectured in his usual loud voice before shoveling another bite of stew into his gaping mouth.
Alicia grit her teeth. Of all the inappropriate places to start waxing sanctimonious, he had to choose a dinner party. She schooled her features into a blank mask. When opportunity knocked, a lady opened the door.
“How fortuitous you should mention bonnets,” she answered with an incline of her head. “I read a book on the subject just the other day. Did you know that the Scots were among the first to use the term ‘bonnet’, and it originally applied to caps for men?”
Louis paused, blinked, and continued chewing. After he swallowed, he began, “Your aunt–”
“Great-aunt,” Alicia interrupted with a bland smile. “And she is your first cousin, twice removed. I read about genealogy just this morning. Or rather, theogony, which is the genealogy of mythical gods. I have been concentrating on the pantheon prevalent in ancient Greece. It’s quite fascinating.”
He stared at her for a moment, nonplused, and then returned to his bowl without comment.
Alicia smiled to herself and wondered how much more he could take. Bluestockings everywhere would despise her for parodying them in such a bad light, but this was a chance for a spot of fun while in conversation with Louis.
His head jolted up from his plate. With a sly smile, he paused with his spoon inches from his mouth. “Have you tried the blanquette de veau, Alicia?” he demanded in his piercing voice.
Heads swiveled in their direction, including Mr. Morrissey’s. He didn’t look up from his food, but he lowered his spoon and sat very still. She had been aware of his gaze since the moment he was placed two chairs down from Louis. At least he sat too far away to intervene with inappropriate questions of his own.
“Not yet,” she answered. “Did you know that La Reynière considers the dish to be naïve and timid? What do you suppose that means? He published an almanac–”
“Let me guess,” Louis interrupted. “You’ve been reading the almanac in your free time.”
Alicia widened her eyes. “Would you like a recitation of some of his more interesting quotes? They’re not all about food.”
###
Ian wondered if he could risk a glance to his left without being as blatant as the other gawpers. He could see Alicia, but a Miss Holmes sat between him and Louis Larouche, obstructing Ian’s view with a teeming mass of brown ringlets.
“I certainly do not,” came the unmistakable screech of Larouche’s shrill voice. “A dull recitation of facts is always boring. You’ll find my home bears no library for that very reason.”
Miss Kinsey stirred her stew with her spoon before answering. “I believe it was William Shakespeare who said ‘My library is dukedom large enough.’”
Larouche’s loud sniff could be heard halfway down the table.
Ian smiled to himself. Their banter had continued in this vein for much of the evening. Miss Kinsey’s references to esoteric facts were quite witty, often leaving Larouche scrambling for a rejoinder.
A grudging respect threatened to bloom. Unlike many debs who could speak of nothing save fashion and the weather, Miss Kinsey utilized a surprising education – if only to irritate her cousin. Ian’s lips twitched. His own sisters were not above tactics such as those.
He returned his attention to his food. No sense thinking about his family. He would only miss them all the more. He needed to clear Chadwick and, if possible, determine the true villain.
Most likely, the culprit moved in high circles, throwing about large sums from inexplicable origin. As soon as politely possible, he needed to ask some discreet questions.
Ian spent the rest of the meal in continued silence, memorizing faces and absorbing the chatter of all those around him. After supper, he stood with the rest of the gentlemen and exited the dining room. He accepted a glass of port from a footman and prowled around the perimeter of the room, listening for snippets of relevant conversation. Someone present might be the recipient of an unexplained windfall or the missing jewels themselves.
“…like crossing Southwark Bridge without a penny…”
“…without a fire-screen to shield them…”
“…right by the scaffold outside Newgate…”
“…ever since he was crowned…”
“…but I said everybody knows my Wellingtons are far more fashionable than his Hessians…”
Ian cringed as Larouche vociferously attempted to convince some poor chap of his superior fashion sense. He moved to escape unnoticed when Larouche veered the conversation down an alternate tangent.
“…and anyway, all he cares about are his precious antiquities.”
Turning perpendicular to the wainscoting, Ian took a casual sip of his port. He tilted his head slightly and listened.
“I thought Chadwick was a right famous collector. Some sort of expert.”
“I wouldn’t say famous,” shrilled the unmistakable whine of Larouche’s piercing voice. “And heaven knows, I advise him on many points.”
“You do?” came a doubtful reply.
“Of course, of course, but it’s not my life, you see. I tend to pursue, shall we say, more exciting pastimes.”
“I did hear about that episode at Graham’s–”
“I very nearly won. Next time we’ll just see whom the cards favor.” Larouche sniffed. “I was referring to pleasures of the female sort. Eager to please, not know-all titters like… well. I really oughtn’t name names.”
Larouche’s tone made it clear he would love to name names. When silence ensued, Ian risked a glance in their direction. The two heads bent together. In all probability, Miss Kinsey found herself the unlucky victim of Larouche’s spiteful venting. Whatever response the friend had made in response to the disclosure so discomfited Larouche as to empurple his florid face even more.
Judging by his gaudy attire, Larouche had little sense to guide him in the ways of women. Although a highly impolitic individual, his main crime seemed to be a lack of both manners and discretion. It was a wonder he got invited to such gatherings at all. If not for his cousin, he probably wouldn’t. Shaking his head, Ian ambled past another group of gentlemen then another and another.
As the men began to file from the room to rejoin the women, Ian hung back, careful to capture and categorize each face and name to memory. Once he reported his findings, Caspian could examine their finances and filter out some suspects.
Finding himself the last remaining gentleman in the room, Ian relinquished his glass to a footman and stepped through the doorway. He strolled toward the bubbling voices. He considered making his goodbyes and heading to the next soirée when he caught sight of Miss Kinsey, resplendent in a rippling gown the color of fresh raspberries, cornered against the wall by a gesticulating Louis Larouche. Nobody deserved that fate.