“But if she hadn’t been pretty, you would have corrected her mistake and left her to me.”
“More than likely.”
“Furthermore, total, complete, and utter honesty means also telling Miss Palmer you continued to deceive her because you wanted to convince Lady Cordelia not to marry you.”
Daniel shook his head. “I can’t tell her.”
“Because?…”
“Because she’s a nice woman and I like her.” Because her eyes are green and endless. And her smile is genuine and I see it even when I close my eyes. “And she’ll hate me.”
“And you care about her opinion of you?”
“Lord help me, I do.”
“Then you really don’t have a choice do you?”
“Fleeing sounded good,” Daniel muttered.
“Only in theory, not in practice.” Warren shrugged. “I see no real choice other than to continue your present course.”
“It does seem to be the only way to survive this mess.”
“And how is it faring so far? Have you managed to convince Miss Palmer that you are not the man for Lady Cordelia?”
“Not yet. I don’t seem to be doing a very good job of it. We tend to stray from the subject.” Daniel hated to admit he was hard pressed to keep his ultimate object in mind when the delectable Sarah was by his side. There were always other far more interesting things to talk about. “Besides, it’s damned difficult to think of reasons why a woman wouldn’t want you.”
“I can see where that might be a problem for you,” Warren murmured.
“It wouldn’t be if I was willing to let her think I was a murderer or a thief or something equally vile, but I believe fabrications—”
“Lies.”
“—should at least sound legitimate.”
“One should have standards,” Warren said under his breath.
“I did tell Sarah—”
“Sarah?”
“I don’t call her Sarah, that would be presumptuous. Even I know that. But I do think of her as Sarah. It’s a lovely name don’t you think? Solid and forthright and honest.”
“Lovely. Go on.”
“I told her I—Daniel Sinclair, that is—had an impressive reputation when it came to women.”
Warren laughed. “That was a lie.”
“I’ve scarcely been celibate.”
“No, but other than the occasional frivolous encounter, you’ve had no time for women.”
“Neither have you,” Daniel said pointedly. While the two men had always been rather competitive when it came to women, neither had had a great deal of time for the serious pursuit of the fairer sex in recent years.
“Yes, and I regret it deeply. But we’re not talking about me. At least not the real me.” He aimed a warning finger at his friend. “And might I request that when you are masquerading as me, you avoid any behavior that might reflect poorly on me.”
“I have been, at all times, a perfect gentleman.” Daniel raised his glass to his friend. “Or rather, I should say, you have.”
“There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.” Warren touched his glass to the other man’s. “So, thus far you’ve told her you like women.”
“I also implied that I—Daniel Sinclair—might not be inclined to be faithful once married.”
“Very good, Daniel. More than plausible.” Warren paused. “Of course, she has no way of knowing that you find such behavior offensive.”
“I have always wondered why men who consider their promises on any other subject to be sacred, don’t view their marriage vows to be just as binding.” Daniel shook his head. “If a man cannot be trusted to abide by his word before God and man in regards to marriage, how can his word be trusted in anything else? Which reminds me. I might have implied that there could possibly be an element of dishonesty in some of my business dealings.”
Warren choked. “What?”
“In any advantageous transaction, there are always those who prefer to see dishonesty rather than brilliance on the part of one party.”
“In this particular case, I don’t think you need worry about brilliance. However.” Warren shook his head in a warning manner. “Given the nature of your current acquaintance, as well any future relationship you or your father might have with hers, even so much as a hint of dishonesty might be a serious mistake.”
“Damn. I hadn’t thought of that, but I will keep it in mind.”
The two friends fell silent and gazed out at the Channel, blinding with the reflected rays of the setting sun low in the west. The quiet companionship between them was wrought from shared experience, longtime friendship, and respect. Their silence was broken only by the sound of the waves and the cry of the gulls.
Daniel would rather not be a perfect gentleman when it came to Sarah, although he didn’t want to admit it aloud. He had no desire to hear what Warren would make of that admission. But Sarah was not the type of woman one dallied with unless one’s intentions were honorable and, well, permanent. Still there had been that moment, that odd overwhelming moment, when he had gazed into her eyes and had felt something that went well beyond the mere furthering of her acquaintance. Something deep and intense and unsuspected. Something that carried with it a promise of excitement, a hint of forever. Something at once terrifying and damn near irresistible.
Absently, Daniel picked up the rook and the knight and rolled them in his hand. Even though he had told Warren she was exactly the type of woman who would make a perfect wife, he was not at all ready for a wife. Perfect or otherwise. And to pursue Lady Cordelia’s companion with an eye toward marriage would be an even bigger muddle than the one he was currently in. No, marriage was not for him and neither was Sarah—Miss Palmer. From now on he had to stick to his plan, no matter how flawed it might be.
“Back to the original plan then,” Daniel said firmly, still staring at the water. Certainly his plan was not as brilliant as the sun upon the water, and admittedly it wasn’t perfect but it would succeed if he watched his step and kept his objective in mind.
Warren chuckled. “I love moments like this when I can be justifiably superior.”
“Cherish it,” Daniel muttered.
He glanced at the pieces in his hand. Chess had a logic and symmetry that made it both understandable and a challenge. In spite of Warren’s attempt to help clarify his situation, the game he currently played had little to do with logic. And, as he was the only one playing, it really wasn’t a game unless you could count his father. Still…
“There might yet be an option we haven’t discussed,” Daniel said in a casual manner.”
“Oh, I can hardly wait to hear this.”
Daniel glanced at his friend. “Sarcasm does not become you.”
“My apologies.” Warren composed his expression but failed to hide the amusement in his eyes. “This new option?”
“It seems to me when one is involved in a game one can’t possibly win…”
“Yes?…”
“The only real way to continue to play”—Daniel smiled a slow satisfied smile—“is to change the rules.”
Even if, in a moral sense, one should never profit from the pain and suffering of others, it was a fortuitous accident for Cordelia. Sarah, of course, would have quite disagreed as it was her pain and suffering that had unknowingly benefited Cordelia. The poor girl had been startled by the sudden appearance of a toad, that had apparently escaped from one of the boys, and had tripped and fallen halfway down the stairs. She was currently confined to her bed with an ankle twice its normal size and a headache to match. No one knew where the toad was. The physician that Mother had insisted look at Sarah’s ankle had pronounced it nothing more than a nasty sprain, had recommended Sarah stay in bed for the day and limit strenuous activity after that, but had said she would be fully recovered within the week. Which fell in nicely with Cordelia’s plans.
Cordelia paced her room and considered those plans, as unformed and vague as they were at the moment. She had been racking her b
rains since she had left Warren yesterday afternoon, trying to determine how she could possibly escape from Sarah’s watchful eyes to meet him. As lax as Sarah may be in most respects regarding her position, there was no possible way she would allow Cordelia to meet the American alone at night. Besides, Cordelia had not told Sarah that Warren and Mr. Sinclair were in Brighton nor did she intend to. Sarah wasn’t the only one who could have mysterious, secret suitors.
Not that Warren was at all mysterious or her suitor for that matter. He was honest and forthright and she hadn’t the faintest doubt that he was a good and honorable man. As for being her suitor, that was absurd. They were certainly becoming friends and she did like him, and admittedly, there was some flirtation involved but there was nothing more to it than that.
She moved to the window, rested her hands on the sill, gazed out at the Channel and the fishing boats looking like giant seabirds upon the water, and heaved a heartfelt sigh. Or was there very much more to it? Even if she wished it, there could be no future for them. She was the daughter of a British earl and he was the son of…she had no idea who his parents were. Or where he was from. No, wait, he and Mr. Sinclair were from Baltimore in Maryland. She really should add Baltimore to her list. In truth, she knew no more about Warren than she did about Daniel Sinclair, except that the two men had a shared ambition and purpose in life. Oh, she knew Warren’s shoulders were impressively broad and his eyes brown and mesmerizing, and his pirate smile altogether too wicked. And she knew as well if he had tried to kiss her yesterday she would have quite enjoyed it, and kissed him right back.
Warren Lewis was unique in her experience. She’d never had a man value her opinion or talk to her as if he were truly interested in what she had to say. And she’d never had a man look at her the way he had. It was most intoxicating.
But it was obviously time to end her charade. Past time really. It would be awkward enough when she eventually met Mr. Sinclair, and was then introduced to his employee and friend. Unfortunately, she didn’t want to stop seeing Warren. He might well be the most interesting, wonderful man she’d ever met. And if she didn’t watch her step, he might be the biggest mistake of her life as well. She was beginning to feel things she had no business feeling. Precisely why there really was no choice. This had to stop now. She nodded with a determination she didn’t quite feel. She would meet him tonight, it would be rude not to, and then never again. Probably. Lord, this was a dangerous game.
She moved away from the window and resumed pacing. It wouldn’t be at all difficult to slip out of the house, especially with Sarah already abed. Sarah had long been a favorite below stairs because of her sweet nature and the fact that she was never a bit of trouble. Thanks to the potent tea Cook had brewed that the housekeeper had plied Sarah with, she could barely keep her eyes open. She would never notice Cordelia’s absence. As for the rest of the family, Cordelia would announce after dinner that she was exhausted, blame said exhaustion on the sea air, and retire for the evening. Then it would be a simple matter to slip down the back stairs and out the door. Precisely as she and Sarah had done in their youth and no doubt the very same way her older sisters had done years ago.
It was no secret among the children of the family that Amelia, Edwina, and Beatrice had all regularly stolen out of the house to join the festivities by the pier when they were younger, either as a trio or in various combinations of two. Indeed, both Will and Cordelia had earned tidy payments from their sisters simply by keeping their secrets. Cordelia would enlist her sisters’ help now but, in spite of their youthful adventures, now that they were married and settled they were as well eminently proper and concerned with appearances and the possibility of scandal. Cordelia never failed to be amazed at the transformation marriage had made in her high-spirited sisters, who now confined those spirits to matters of household and entertaining, charity works and children. They certainly couldn’t be trusted to keep Cordelia’s secrets. And even if they could, Cordelia was confident she couldn’t afford the price.
No, getting out of the house was not a problem. But Cordelia, who had once seen the full moon rise over the Pyramids in the desert night and had ridden a donkey through narrow rock-wall passages to reach the ancient city of Petra, was decidedly uncomfortable at the thought of walking the short distance to the pier at night, alone. A woman by herself might attract no end of unwanted attention. It was at moments like these that she quite appreciated the luxury of having a companion. It wasn’t just a matter of propriety—the social dictum that a young unmarried woman of a certain social class should be chaperoned at all times—it was very much a matter of safety. And while Brighton wasn’t Whitechapel, it would be nothing short of stupid to travel about alone at night even though the pier was a scant five-minute walk from the house.
She needed an escort. While, with the proper inducement, she could certainly convince a footman to accompany her and keep his mouth shut, one really couldn’t trust anyone whose loyalty could be bought. No, one could only trust someone with a stronger bond. Someone whose best interests lay beyond mere payment. Someone who would need Cordelia’s silence every bit as much as she would need his.
A flash of movement caught the corner of Cordelia’s vision. She stopped in the center of the very room she had occupied on every summer to Brighton since childhood and watched a medium-sized, mottled brown toad casually emerge from beneath her bed and hop across her floor. Cordelia grabbed a straw hat, scooped up the creature, deposited toad and hat into an empty hatbox and quickly slapped the lid on the box. Unlike her older sisters, Cordelia wasn’t particularly squeamish about creatures like toads and frogs, thanks to her brother, Will. They had had grand times as children, especially here in Brighton. She could remember all sorts of mischief. At once, she knew exactly who could help her. And why.
She patted the lid of the hatbox. There was a great deal to be said for family tradition.
It is imperative, gentle traveler, to be well acquainted with the various aspects of your native land so as to avoid the mortifying circumstance of being asked a question you cannot answer.
An English Lady’s Traveling Companion
Chapter 6
“Well, Aunt Cordy?” Henry, her eldest sister Amelia’s oldest son, eyed her in that suspicious manner of young men tottering between childhood and something as yet undefined. It had taken no time at all to find him and somewhat longer to convince him it was in his best interest to join her in her parlor. “What do you want?
“First of all, Henry, there’s no need to be rude with that tone of voice. And I do hate to be called ‘Cordy,’ you know.”
An unrepentant grin stretched across the boy’s face. “I know.”
“I thought you did.” She studied her nephew for a moment. He was tall for his age and looked older than his eleven years. He would soon begin his studies at Eton, just as her brother, Will, had. She wasn’t sure which would fare the worst in that bargain, the school or the boy. She nudged her hatbox toward him with her foot. “I believe this might be yours.”
He squatted down and opened the lid. “There’s nothing but a hat—” His face brightened. “You found him. You found Friday. Bloody good job, Aunt Cordy.”
“Don’t call me Cordy, watch your language—your mother would be appalled—and why Friday?”
“Because Friday is when we found him.” Henry cast her a disgusted look as if the answer was obvious and she too old or too stupid or too female to understand.
“Well, put the lid back on and don’t let him get away again.”
Henry slipped the lid on the box and stood. “Did you tell Mother you found him?”
Cordelia shook her head.
“She and Aunt Winnie and Grandmother are angry about Sarah’s taking a fall.”
“As well they should be. I also know that you and the rest of the boys have professed innocence not only about where the toad—Friday—came from and whose he is, but whether he existed at all.”
Henry narrowed his eyes. “Why did
you think he was mine?”
“It scarcely matters who he belongs to but as you’re the ringleader of that little group of bandits you call cousins, I thought it best to speak with you.”
Henry grinned. “Bandits? I quite like that.”
“I thought you would.”
“Are you going to tell?”
She shook her head. “Probably not.”
Henry picked up the hatbox and edged toward the door. “We should be going then.”
“Oh, no. Not yet.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s a price to be paid for silence.”
Henry stared at her then sighed. “What do you want?”
“I need your help.”
The expression on his face battled between apprehension and curiosity. Curiosity won. “What kind of help?”
“First, I need you to agree that if I keep your secret, you will keep mine.”
He hesitated. Obviously it was difficult to place one’s trust in an adult and a female adult at that. He nodded slowly. “Agreed.”
“Do I have your word?”
He spit on his hand and held it out to her in yet another time-honored family tradition. “You do.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Did your Uncle Will teach you to do that?”
“Uncle Will says a man’s word is his bond. And you need a handshake to seal that bond.” Henry’s voice was serious but there was a wicked challenge in his eye. Good Lord, the child was a pirate in training.
“He would.” She well remembered the ritual from her childhood. She and Will had been the youngest children in the family and while he was somewhat closer in age to Beatrice than to her, the three older girls had a close-knit relationship that did not include their younger siblings.
Inevitably, Will had decided that girls, especially younger sisters, were not worth the trouble, but fortunately Sarah had come to live with them and had nicely filled the void in Cordelia’s life that her brother had left. Still, she and Will had remained close. “Very well then.” She spit into her palm and shook Henry’s hand.
Secrets of a Proper Lady Page 10