A Fair Pretender

by Janet Woods

  ‘You need not brave this cold weather on my account. Jessie has found several garments, which will serve me for the time being.’

  ‘I have seen them, and they will not serve. Although Jessie is clever with her needle, most of my sister’s discarded clothing is too large to accommodate you in comfort. I cannot have you running around my home looking like a ragamuffin. Jessie has given me a list of your minimum needs. I will take a horse and cart to accommodate the parcels, and will be back in no time, at all.

  Ten minutes later she watched him leave, a sturdy horse strapped between the shafts of a light, covered cart. A tricorn kept the snow from his head and his cloak was wrapped warmly around him.

  Graine watched as Rebel went bounding down the drive after him to jumpup on the back of the cart. Saville’s head turned towards the dog and he pointed towards the house. Rebel looked in the opposite direction and yawned. She grinned when Saville shrugged and flicked at the reins.

  The snow thickened during the afternoon, the flakes becoming heavier and more prolific. It wasn’t long before Graine couldn’t discern where the carriageway became lawn. The tree limbs grew blankets of white fluff along their lengths. Soon, there was an unblemished white landscape in a white vortex of snow. The scene enchanted her.

  Now and again servants went to stare worriedly out of windows, until one assumed a permanent watch from a window on the stairs. One braved the snow to tramp down the carriageway, lifting each step up high and leaving deep footprints behind him. He tramped back again, shaking his head.

  It was almost dark when Saville returned, leading the horse and cart by the reins. Rebel stood on a covered mound of parcels, barking instructions to him as he practically dragged the vehicle through the snow.

  Two of the stable hands rushed to take responsibility for the vehicle, others shooed Saville indoors and began to unload the parcels. Graine heaved a sigh of relief at his safe return, and went in search of him.

  She found him in the drawing room, his back to the fire, his hands cupped round a brandy. It was a comfortable room, furnished with deep chairs covered in tapestry or blue velvet. A large Abusson rug, intricately designed in reds and blues, stretched across a floor of polished wood. The room was paneled at the bottom, and covered with watered taffeta at the top. Window hangings of pale- blue velvet were tied back with gold tassels. A French clock ticked loudly on the mantle, its pendulum swinging a stately measure back and forth.

  Rebel was lying almost on the embers of the fire, steam rising from his coat.

  Graine stated the obvious almost accusingly. ‘You look frozen.’

  ‘Were you worried about me?’ he said, trying to smile through his chattering teeth.

  ‘Of course not; I assumed you were intelligent enough to know what you were doing.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She smiled to take the sting from her words. ‘It wasn’t a compliment. Your servants were worried, and they know you better than I.’

  ‘They’re paid to worry about me,’ he said lightly, ‘And you’re not a servant, are you?’

  Graine stared at him, wide-eyed and slightly dry-mouthed. Had he discovered her deception?

  She trod carefully. ‘Everyone is a servant to something, whether it be land, family, or by hiring out of one’s labor.’

  ‘Then you think people are equal in status, that the difference lies only in wealth, or the obtaining of that wealth.’

  ‘I didn’t say exactly that. Status is a state of mind. Why should a lady’s maid be classed as inferior, when her mistress doesn’t have the same skill to attend to her own toilette? Why should a man’s bastard be considered inferior to a child of his marriage? And why should an aristocrat who cheats, lies and gambles and is unfaithful to his wife, be considered superior to a faithful, honest man, who earns his bread by the strength of his back and the sweat of his brow?’

  ‘Enough,’ he protested, half-laughing. ‘You display too much passion and opinion for a woman of quality.’

  Graine felt like stamping her foot. Her years with the nuns, who’d been far from submissive in either mind or practicality, had given her a less than conventional approach to life. ‘Have I indeed? Who gave men the right to decide that a female must have no opinion or passion?’

  ‘My dear, Miss Adams, do calm down. I’m not disagreeing with the thrust of your argument. However, men make the laws and govern the land. Until that changes it would be wiser if such opinions were not aired, especially in front of John. The hierarchy of the Church of England does not favor such liberal views.’

  The blue of his eyes had sharpened to a mercurial brightness. It seemed he had a mark she must not overstep, a mark she was fast approaching. She allowed her temper to cool then, framed an apology. ‘I’m sorry I offended you.’

  He swallowed the remains of his brandy and chuckled. ‘You’re not sorry, at all. You delight in the cut and thrust of argument. I enjoyed the encounter; it warmed me.’

  ‘But John Lamartine would not approve.’

  Saville shrugged and turned to Rebel, saying casually. ‘Move away from the fire, Reb. Your coat is beginning to scorch.’

  Rebel sighed, lumbered to his feet, turned around thrice, then subsided to the floor and offered his other side to the flames.

  Graine giggled. ‘He certainly has a mind of his own.’

  ‘He seems to have formed a strong attachment to you, Miss Adams. Be careful he doesn’t lead you astray.’

  ‘I promise, I’ll not attempt to stick my head down rabbit holes or scratch behind my ear with my foot.’

  Saville laughed when Rebel lifted his head and gave her a brief, but superior look.

  A servant entered to light the candles in the sconces and draw the hangings across the window. When he finished, he gently coughed to draw his master’s attention. ‘Jessie has unpacked Miss Adam’s parcels, My Lord.’

  ‘Thank you. She shall come directly to inspect them. Inform cook that my guest will be dining with me tonight, and tell Jeffries I’ll be changing for dinner shortly.’ His eyes gleamed when he smiled at her. ‘I will see you at eight, Miss Adams.’

  By that, Graine took it she was being dismissed. But much as she enjoyed his company she was also eager to see what his purchases consisted of. Without thinking she bobbed him a curtsy. ‘Yes, My lord.’

  A pained look appeared on his features as he protested, ‘My dear, Miss Adams, I thought we’d agreed you were not a servant.’

  Shame filled her. The placement of her hands over the tell tale display of heat on her cheeks was involuntary. She turned away from him in consternation, heading rapidly for the door.

  ‘Now what in the devil brought that about?’ Saville thought when the door closed behind her.

  He moved away from the fire and poured himself another brandy. His rear was nicely toasted now and his toes were beginning to lose their numbness. Throwing himself into a chair he draped a leg inelegantly over one of the arms and watched the firelight lick at the golden fluid in his glass. The color reminded him of Evelyn’s eyes.

  The girl had such fire in her. How could he have been so wrong about someone? The one letter he’d received from her was badly written in a childish hand, and had given no indication she possessed such intelligence and wit. He knew it by heart, every awkward phrase and misspelled word. From it he’d formed an opinion of a pleasant, trusting woman with a big heart.

  Dear Lord Lamartine,

  My gardiun and uncle, Mister Theodore Chambers, has recently departed this world. As negoshiashuns were concluded to the satisfaction of all partys, and

  the plantashun has now been sold and my dowry transferred, I shall be leaving

  for England at the date previously arranged, and told to you by my unfortunately

  demised relative in his last letter.

  I will be accompanied on the sea journey by a young woman who acts as

  my companion. Her name is Graine Seaton. She will remain in my employ until her situashun is made clear to a
ll concerned at a later date. I wish her to remain under my protection after my marriage, whilst I teach her some

  graces, because sometimes she speaks too bluntly and forcefully.

  Though she isn’t much use at sewing and fashuning hair and such, Graine

  is a dear little loveable girl, if a bit pertly inclined, on account of being brought up

  by nuns in a convent orphanage. They couldn’t make her pious enuff to join the

  order however much they tried, because she was too lively a girl who didn’t enjoy praying on her knees. But who can blame her for that?

  Please convey my felicitashuns to my betrothed, John Lamartine.

  I have the honor to remain your faithful servant.

  Evelyn Adams (Miss)

  Saville grinned widely. At first her remarks about her companion had made him laugh, then the affection contained in them endeared her to him. He was sorry the orphan girl had drowned, because he’d been looking forward to observing her antics for himself.

  He usually prided himself on being a good judge of character, but Evelyn had surprised him in the flesh. She would not make a suitable wife for John, and he knew his cousin to be an honorable man who would not back out of the union without good excuse now.

  Still, Evelyn Adams struck him as being a girl with a mind of her own, and she must make her own decision when she met John face to face. He intended to counsel her to that end.

  Upstairs in her chamber, Graine’s eyes were feasting on several gowns of various colors. There were skirts, bodices, and two riding outfits, though she hardly knew one end of a horse from the other. There were boxes of shoes, two pairs of boots fashioned from soft leather, silk hose, ribbons, hats and furbelows. Chemises of the softest material were heaped on the bed. She reddened when she picked one up and it drifted through her fingers.

  ‘Surely he didn’t purchase these himself.’

  Jessie cackled with laughter. ‘And why not, pray? At his age the master would know his way around a woman.’

  Graine asked the question she hadn’t dared directly ask Saville Lamartine himself. ‘Does he have a wife, then?’

  ‘Not him. He said he won’t marry until he meets his true love, though I don’t know how he expects to meet a sweetheart of suitable birth, not when he lives here in the depths of Dorset.’

  Isolated as Rushford was, it wasn’t as remote as Jessie made it sound. Graine’s giggle earned her a suspicious look.

  ‘He rarely goes to London now, even though he keeps a house and staff there, Not unless there’s a bill of particular interest being debated in the house, that is. The master says there’s plenty to do here, what with running the estate and his duties as a magistrate.

  A tremor of unease ran through Graine, though she could not see how anyone could find out about her lie. To distract herself, she picked up a cornflower blue gown with a delicate tracing of embroidery on the bodice and hem. She held it against her body. ‘This is so pretty.’

  ‘I thought you’d like that one. See, it has a little velvet jacket with laces at the front. You should wear it to dinner. Blue is the master’s favorite color.’

  Chapter Three

  Saville watched Evelyn Adams throughout dinner. The fact that she’d become an enigma to him was bothersome.

  Her age for a start … even in the cold light of day she did not appear to be twenty-six years old. Her skin was smooth, with hardly a blemish, if one ignored the tiny scar just visible in her hairline. She certainly did not act twenty-six either. There was a certain naiveté about her, a lack of full control over her emotions, which suggested a girl emerging from her youth.

  Her appetite was good, but without greed. She ate small portions of everything offered. Finally, she put her spoon down and heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I have hardly room for it all and can eat no more.’

  ‘You were not obliged to eat everything in the first place.’

  There was a little twist of puzzlement in the eyes which met his. ‘But it’s a sin to waste food when others are starving.’

  ‘How can it be wasted when the servants will eat what we do not, and the dog will eat what they do not, and the pigs will eat what he does not?’

  ‘Oh!’ She looked deliciously perplexed for a moment, then smiled. ‘I’m truly impressed by the way you treat your servants.’

  ‘How were yours treated in Antigua?’

  Her eyes clouded over as she remembered her own treatment. ‘They were treated a little better than the plantation slaves, but not much.’ Theodore Chambers had made them work from dawn until midnight and he’d seemed to resent her presence in the house.

  Saville decided not to pursue the subject. Slavery was an unpleasant conversation to introduce to the dinner table, one which stirred great passions. ‘You were lucky to have foundered near Barbados rather than in the middle of the North Atlantic.’

  An expression of great sadness appeared on her face. Tears glistened on the surface of her eyes. ‘I was lucky, yes, but others were not. So many lives were lost, including that of my beloved … uh … companion. I cannot bear to think of her lost in the depths of that great ocean whilst I’m still alive.’

  He pushed his chair back held out his hand to assist her up. ‘It was not my intent to upset you, so. Come, we will go to the drawing room and you will sip a small glass of brandy. We shall talk of gayer things whilst you recover from your sadness. That blue gown looks well on you, Miss Adams.’

  ‘I must thank you for your kindness and compliment you on your good taste.’

  She slanted him a sideways look from under her lashes, which although heknew to be entirely without guile, was unconsciously provocative, all the same.

  ‘Must you call me Miss Adams in such a stuffy manner?’

  His heart unexpectedly lifted and he found himself grinning foolishly at her. ‘Unless I’m given permission to do otherwise, yes.’

  ‘You have it. And I shall address you as Saville, with or without your permission. It’s a splendid name, which suits you well. You do not mind?’

  He chuckled. ‘You’ve already stated your intent in a quite determined manner. You are my guest and I’m yours to command. ’

  ‘Which is easy to say, but I’m sure you would not be so gallant if your resolve ran in the opposite direction to mine,’ she said, tossing her gilded head as she laughed. ‘You do not strike me as a man who would jump easily to the dictates of a woman.’

  He laughed at her sally. ‘It would depend on the circumstances, of course.’ And Saville reflected that this delicious Eve might be able to furnish him with a thousand such circumstances, as he handed her a brandy and water.

  She sipped it slowly, regarding him over the glass as, calling on his obligations as host, Saville attempted to entertain her with snippets of gossip from his last visit to London, or the parties and balls he’d attended. The information was totally out of date, but she wouldn’t be aware of that.

  After a while, she murmured. ‘All those balls and assemblies sounds to be an indolent way to spend one’s life. Tell me about yourself. Are your visits to the capital city merely a pursuit of pleasure, or do you have a profession to occupy your time, like your worthy cousin, John Lamartine?’

  Sensing sarcasm, he gazed sharply at her. Leaning into the corner of the chair with her eyes closed, his guest had slipped her feet from her shoes and had tucked her legs up under her skirt. He experienced a moment of chagrin that he’d bored her into such a relaxed state, then noticing the empty glass in her hand, he grinned and rose to pluck it from her fingers.

  She opened her eyes to reveal the honeyed depths of them then, smiling lazily up at him, murmured. ‘Forgive me, Saville. I’m unaccustomed to drinking spirituous liquor and it has relaxed me too much, I fear.’

  She had never seemed so luscious to him. ‘You’re still fatigued from the journey.’

  But Eve had drifted into asleep now. Her breast rose and fell evenly with each breath as he sat and watched her, content to gaze upon her be
auty. The fact that he’d fallen instantly in love with her was deeply disturbing to him.

  Saville was twenty-eight years old. Although a romantic at heart, he considered himself the possessor of sound logic and reason, not a man easily led by a pretty face or a coquettish smile. He’d made his conquests in the past, and still did on occasion, though not on his own doorstep, and always with women who did not expect more than he was prepared to give in return. He was careful, and discreet regarding matters of the flesh.

  Saville knew he was considered a good catch. He had played the game, surveying the worthy maids thrown on to the marriage market each season with a union in mind. He’d been half-hearted about it and, even though desirous of having a wife and producing heirs, something had held him back from making an offer, however suitable the candidate had seemed to be.

  Deep down, he’d always harbored expectations of falling in love. Now it had happened, striking him down without warning, swiftly and surely. But it should not have happened with this girl. He’d spent the last two years haggling with her guardian on another’s behalf. His beautiful Eve had been carefully selected for John, a man too proud and particular for his own poor living.

  The whole issue was now in doubt. Her eyelids began to flutter. She was dreaming, and began to whimper, her head moving from side to side. He crossed to her side and carefully lifted her. She quieted when he gently shushed her. A perfect armful, was Eve, her head fell against his shoulder and her breath stroked deliciously against his ear like a downy feather.

  Up the stairs he went, his feet treading as surely as those of a cat, though he had no light to guide him. Her chamber door was slightly ajar, revealing the flickering light of a candle. Jessie was moving about inside, humming softly to herself.

  Smitten, Saville gazed down at his beautiful burden. He was stuck like a fly in the honey-pot and had been from the moment his hound had licked her face free of mud. He chuckled, remembering her indignation when she’d taken him to task, and his own reaction of incredulity.