by Anita Mills
16
At the unfashionable hour of three o’clock, Lady Lyndon, professing an interest in going to Hookham’s Lending Library, took up Juliana first and then proceeded to Milbourne House for Caroline before going on to meet Lord Rotherfield. Ju and Caro, constrained by Lady Lyndon’s presence, occupied the intervening time by discussing the weather, the previous night’s ball, Juliana’s court presentation, and the Season’s matrimonial matches. Both girls stayed away from anything pertaining to Patrick Danvers, Rotherfield, or Albert Bascombe. Leah Barsett leaned back and surveyed them with a mixture of sympathy and amusement.
Rotherfield, always prompt, was waiting with hat and gloves in hand when they arrived. Wearing the somber black he favored, the earl climbed in to take a seat next to Juliana, who had conveniently managed to sit across from the other two ladies.
“Where were you wishful of going, Marcus?” Leah asked.
“Hyde Park. ’Twill be thin of company for another hour or so, so I doubt we shall be much remarked.” He settled back against the squabs before turning to Juliana. “Unless, of course, you fear discovery, Miss Canfield?”
“No, of course not.”
“Splendid.” He looked across at Caroline and nodded. “You are as fine as five-pence, Miss Ashley. You really ought to cultivate that particular shade of green—it becomes you. Madame Cecile’s?”
Caroline managed a smile and smoothed the skirt of the gown Lord Westover had bought her before acknowledging the compliment. “Thank you. ’Tis quite my favorite despite all the dresses Lady Milbourne has had made for me. It comes from Calais.”
“Calais?” Juliana’s brow furrowed in concentration and then lightened as she remembered. “So that was it! Oh, Caro, you’ve no notion how I puzzled over Mr. Bascombe’s letter, I can tell you. None of us could make the least sense of it, but now I can see—it was France, after all!”
“France?” Leah Barsett turned to Caroline. “So you met Grandpapa in France. But how did you come to be there? Grandmama said … ”
Caroline looked around her for a moment and sighed. “Well, ’tis a long tale, but I daresay if you are to bring me out, you should know of it. Suffice it to say, I was abducted and carried to France in the mistaken notion that I should be grateful to wed someone I considered quite ineligible. I refused, ran away, and found Lord Milbourne, who graciously assisted me with my passage and opened his house to me to prevent my disgrace.”
“That’s it?” Juliana demanded incredulously. “Caro, it cannot be! If you think that will pass for the whole, you are mistaken. You said it was a long tale.”
“I should not like to share the particulars, Ju.”
“But we already know you left with Bascombe! And I cannot believe he had enough interest in any female to force a marriage! Indeed … ” She stopped, her face suddenly arrested for a moment, and then burst out, “Patrick! But he would never—he would not! Caro, never say that Patrick tried to force you into marriage, because I’ll not believe it!”
“No, of course not—he did not know of the scheme until … ” Caroline hesitated as she realized that they were all staring at her curiously.
“Miss Ashley, I can assure you that your concern is unfounded,” Rotherfield broke in. “You are among friends here.”
“Well, I—”
“Do go on, Caroline,” Leah urged, “for we have already surmised much of what must have happened. You were abducted by Mr. Bascombe and taken to Calais,” she prompted.
Caroline nodded and looked out the window at the broad tree-lined streets and the well-tended flowerbeds within the vast expanse of grass. “Well,” she answered finally, “ ’tis not nearly so sordid as it must sound, but Mr. Bascombe asked me to drive with him in this very park. It was less than a month ago, but it seems to have been an age.” Briefly she sketched the improbable events of her abduction after Patrick’s offer.
“But could you not have stopped him?” Juliana questioned skeptically. “I mean, from what I know of Albert Bascombe, I should have thought you could have outwitted him, Caro.”
“Believe me, Ju, I tried.” For a moment her dark eyes met Rotherfield’s and she was surprised by the sudden hostility in them. Thinking it directed somehow at her, she looked away.
“You refused Danvers’—your pardon, Westover’s— suit?” Rotherfield asked. “I should have thought a marriage better than Lady Canfield’s employ. But then I suppose that by now I should be accustomed to how females view reputations. After all, ’twould seem in the eyes of a lady that one’s defending one’s honor ought to be preferable to having numerous liaisons with the muslin company, but somehow it is not.”
“Oh, no! It was not that, precisely.” Caroline thought back to Patrick’s first offer and colored uncomfortably. “ ’Twas the reason he offered, sir. I should not speak of it, but—”
“Ah, the infamous wager.”
“You know of it?” She looked up quickly. “Well, then cannot you see that I would not wed simply to give a stranger an heir? I mean, ’tis not very flattering, is it? While I had no fortune, I thought him much the same as a fortune hunter, Lord Rotherfield. To me, it was as though he said, ‘Wed me, give me an heir, and I can be rich.’ There was certainly no mention of those tender passions necessary to such intimacy.”
The hostility in the earl’s black eyes faded. “Your pardon, Miss Ashley—I should not have said that. Do go on. You appear to have spirit—could you not have refused passage across?”
“Lord Rotherfield, I made so much mischief for Mr. Bascombe on the way that he drugged me with his mother’s sleeping potion. He gave me the worst wine I have ever tasted, but out of thirst, I drank it. Unfortunately, his memory of the dosage was imperfect in the extreme and I count myself fortunate to have survived. I remember nothing of the packet.”
“Well, if he cannot read better than he can write, I can believe it,” Rotherfield muttered. “I scoured half of London looking for some scrap of information as to your whereabouts.”
“You?”
“I asked him, Caro,” Juliana explained. “I mean, what was I to do? I couldn’t read Bascombe’s letter either. I was desperate, so I took the letter before Mama saw it and I told her you’d gone to your sick godmother.”
“But you did not even know Lord Rotherfield, Ju.”
“That is quite another tale, Miss Ashley,” Rotherfield interposed quickly. “So you awoke in Calais then?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Well, my memory is not precise, as I was ill, but Pat … Westover arrived, quarreled with Mr. Bascombe, and then insisted that I must marry him to save my reputation. At first, I thought him in league with Mr. Bascombe, but then realized he was not. Rather than tie either of us in a loveless union, I ran away.”
“And then you met Grandpapa.” Leah Barsett leaned to pat Caroline’s hand where it worked against the green silk in her lap. “Let us speak no more of what can only distress you. ’Tis over, and now you are free to make a good match of your own choosing.”
Caroline debated whether to tell them the rest, but decided no purpose could be served by bringing up DeVere. She nodded. “You know then what happened after I chanced to meet Lord Milbourne.”
“But I thought Lady Milbourne was your godmother!” Juliana protested. “ ’Tis what you said, after all.”
“Well—”
“Since Lady Milbourne’s granddaughter is sponsoring her, I see no reason to question it further,” Rotherfield interrupted with finality. “Though if I were you, I should discuss his abduction of Miss Ashley with your betrothed. I’ve half a notion to do so myself.”
“Mr. Bascombe? But I… that is—”
Caroline came to Juliana’s rescue hastily. “I daresay she has taxed him with it, haven’t you, Ju? But I am for Lady Lyndon’s suggestion: let us speak no more of this.”
Juliana was torn between a desire to blurt out that Albert Bascombe was the last man in Englan
d that she would wed and the knowledge that she would look the veriest fool if she did. Besides, one did not publicly criticize one’s mother. Frustrated, she bit back a denial. When she looked up, she was nonplussed to see Rotherfield’s black eyes intently watching her. To avoid betraying herself, she turned to the window as though absorbed by the beauty of the park.
“Marcus,” Leah asked suddenly, “do you go with us to the Farnsworths’ tonight? I daresay ’twill be exceedingly dull, but Grandmama expects Mrs. Farnsworth to assist with the party we shall be giving Caroline, so there’s no help for it—we shall be going.”
“Did I receive a card?”
“If you did not, I can contrive to get one.”
“What sort of affair is it?”
“Oh, dear. I knew you would ask,” Leah sighed. “ ’Tis a musicale—a Mrs. Brentwood will be singing.”
“And we shall be served weak lemonade and stale cake, no doubt,” he observed dryly. “Actually, I had thought to accompany Moreson to White’s.”
“Well, I daresay we can contrive, of course, but I had hoped that you would come so Tony would not have to take two of us. We are just beginning to establish Caro, and … ”
Caroline was mortified at the blatant lure Leah was casting out on her behalf, but could think of no way to disassociate herself from it without injuring Lady Lyndon’s feelings. She too found herself staring determinedly out the window.
If the earl thought it patently odd that he was being called on to establish a lady’s reputation rather than destroy it, he concealed his amusement rather well. Besides, the more he knew of Caroline Ashley, the more he was impressed. After all, Lord and Lady Milbourne were well into their seventies and scarcely the sort to attempt to bring any female out. Finally he gave a nod of resignation. “I’ll take you up in my carriage about eight, Leah, but I warn you—if this Mrs. Bentwood is a crashing bore, I shall hold you accountable for my headache.”
“Done. I am sure we need not stay above an hour or two, Marcus.” Leah smiled. “I have never cared much for musicales either, but Caroline must be seen if she is to take.”
“Do you go to the Farnsworth thing, Miss Canfield?” Rotherfield suddenly addressed Juliana.
“Yes.”
“Good. I shall look forward to seeing you and Mr. Bascombe there.” He noted the stiffness of her posture and the set of her jaw. “I am certain that Miss Ashley will contrive to sit with you.” He followed her line of vision out the window and noted the increase in carriage traffic. “Leah, I think it would be wise to leave before we are remarked. I should not like to be responsible for Lady Canfield’s reading a peal over the child.”
“I am not a child, I am—”
“Betrothed?” the earl supplied helpfully. “And I know you are eighteen, I believe.”
For the first time in her life, Juliana Canfield was at a loss as to how to deal with a man. Usually, all of them made cakes of themselves in one way or another within minutes of being introduced to her, but this one was different. When his black eyes met hers, she felt a tremor in her soul, but he gave no indication that he felt the same. She looked across the seat at Caroline and felt a stab of jealousy. Leah Barsett and the Milbournes were going to give Caro every opportunity to be with Rotherfield while Juliana’s mother would see she spent her time with Bertie Bascombe. And if she were not careful, she would find herself married to that paperskull, for she could not depend on his wits to keep it from happening.
“Marcus …” Leah leaned forward to gain his attention. “It grows late, and Juliana’s mama will wonder if we return with no books. Perhaps if you were to escort Caroline to Grandmama’s and come back for us, ’twould be better. She cannot afford to have you go with us to Hookham’s, after all.”
Mortified, Caroline hastened to suggest that she go to the lending library also, but Leah dismissed the notion in an instant with, “No, that would leave poor Marcus in the carriage alone, my dear.”
“Is your grandfather home, Leah?” Rotherfield changed the subject abruptly. “I’ve meant to ask him about an investment in some of his Indian funds.”
“I should think so. Did he say he meant to go out, Caro?”
“No. He and Lady Milbourne were to meet with his man of business, I believe.”
To Juliana, it seemed that Caroline Ashley had joined a conspiracy against her designed to keep her away from the earl. Unfortunately no graceful way to demur came to mind before they reached Hookham’s.
After they had set down Leah and Juliana, Caroline and Rotherfield were each lost in solitary thoughts, and conversation lapsed totally. It was not until they found themselves in the Milbourne House drive that either roused to note the other’s presence. As the coach rolled to a halt, Rotherfield lifted the window curtain to observe, “ ’Twould seem that Milbourne has company, for unless I am mistaken, that is Westover’s crest.”
Caroline started guiltily and leaned to stare where Rotherfield’s hand directed. A flush crept over her cheeks, betraying that Patrick Danvers had been the sole occupant of her thoughts since Hookham’s. Rotherfield mistook the heightened color for embarrassment at having to see Lord Westover again, and reached to take her hand reassuringly.
“Miss Ashley, I promise you that you have nothing to fear of him when you are in my company.” When she looked up, she was surprised by the sympathy mirrored in the black eyes. “Alas”—he nodded—”my temperament matches his. We are of like reputations, after all.”
“But he is not—” She bit back a defense of Patrick Danvers and shook her head. “You are too kind, sir. I could neither expect nor permit you to defend me. Indeed, there is no need.”
A faint gleam of amusement lit his eyes at the independent tone of her voice. One black eyebrow shot up skeptically. “No? I should not count on Milbourne’s years or Lyndon’s temper for protection, Miss Ashley.” He turned to step down after the coachman opened the carriage door. Reaching up to her, he lifted her easily and set her on the paving stones. Noting her hesitation when he offered his arm, he urged, “Come—I am going in, anyway.”
Patrick Danvers, having taken particular care with his dress and appearance, paused briefly in front of an ornately framed mirror to smooth back an unruly mahogany lock before going out to meet her. As Lord Milbourne’s butler had been extremely vague about her whereabouts, Patrick had concluded she probably shopped with Lady Lyndon. The sight of the Lyndon carriage as it drew into the drive seemingly confirmed it.
“Car… Miss Ashley.” He drew up stiffly as he recognized the tall, dark man beside her, and managed a curt nod. “Your pardon, my lord. I did not expect to see you here.”
“Westover.” Rotherfield acknowledged him in a voice totally devoid of any warmth.
Caroline dropped her hand from the earl’s sleeve and stepped back. To her horror, the two deadliest men in London appeared to be taking each other’s measure. The thought that between them they’d killed six men flitted through her mind momentarily. “Lord Westover,” she murmured as she stepped between them, “how very kind of you to call.” The look she received in return was not kind at all. “Would you perhaps care for a glass of wine?” Her diversion sounded foolish to her own ears.
“I had one while I waited for you.”
“Well, then perhaps Lord Rotherfield would take one.”
“No.”
“Well, I daresay I will have some ratafia.” She removed her gloves and walked into the saloon where Patrick had waited. Reaching for the bell pull, she nodded back at the two men. “Would you care to join me, sirs?” For answer, Rotherfield moved to lean against the marble mantel, and Patrick crossed the room to stare through the crosspanes into the side garden. “Well,” she ventured brightly as she waited for the footman, “what brings you to Milbourne House, Lord Westover?”
Instead of answering her, Patrick turned to Rotherfield. “Pray excuse us, sir. I would be private with Miss Ashley, if you do not mind.”
“But I do m
ind.” Rotherfield straightened his tall frame and surveyed Patrick coldly. “I do not believe Miss Ashley is desirous of furthering your acquaintance, Westover.”
“ ’Tis not your affair, Marcus!” Patrick flared.
The earl dropped his eyes to study the heavy black-stoned signet ring on his left hand before shrugging. “It is, if I choose to make it so,” he answered with deceptive softness.
Caroline watched in disbelief as they appeared to bait each other. Unable to stand it, she turned to Rotherfield. “Please, sir, ’tis quite all right. I do not mind seeing Lord Westover alone for a few minutes.” When Rotherfield did not look at her, she touched his sleeve tentatively. “I believe Lord Milbourne to be in the library, sir—’tis his custom to spend his afternoons there when he does not go out.”
“Very well, but I shall leave the door open if you should need assistance, Miss Ashley.” His eyes met Patrick’s over her head. “I give you five minutes, Westover.”
“Five minutes?” Patrick moved to her side. “ ’Tis not even his house! The incredible arrogance of the man! I ought—”
“Why are you here?” she cut in quickly.
“Your delight in my presence overwhelms me,” he murmured sarcastically. “Actually, Caroline, I came to apologize. for my lamentable manners last night. I thought that we could take a turn about the park at the fashionable hour, if you did not mind too much.”
“Do you really think I would get into a carriage with you, my lord?”
“Patrick. And I take leave to tell you, Caroline, that you are far safer with me than with Rotherfield. At least, my duels were fought for principles; his were fought for women.”
“Lord Rotherfield’s behavior has been correct in the extreme, Patrick,” she retorted stiffly. “And I fail to see what concern it is of yours. Lady Lyndon—”
“Leah Barsett is blind where he is concerned! And she is a married lady—she can survive the association as long as Tony Barsett does not cut up a dust! You, on the other hand, cannot! His reputation—”