She could not believe that he had set out to deliberately deceive her. That was unlike him. It had only been part of his teasing about heroes, when he had invited her, that night they had waltzed, to surrender herself to him. No, the fault was hers alone.
Her hands clenched into fists in her lap as the play continued unseen before her eyes. The fault was entirely her own. Acting like a schoolroom miss, wanting a hero. Such absurd dreaming by the poor daughter of a dead baron could only lead to disaster, as she had long ago told herself and been too foolish to hear.
The play concluded, Macbeth and his lady received their just deserts and Louisa was shawled and led from the theater by a moody Harvey. During the ride home she had very little to say, her mind alternating between consideration of what was to be packed and the absurd desire in her heart to take a last farewell of the man who had left her house in such a rage and then cut her dead at the theater.
She was called back to reality by the dowager’s brusque farewell. And she replied to it automatically.
Harvey took her to the door and spoke softly, to avoid his words reaching his Mama’s sharp ears, Louisa assumed. “You have angered, Mama,” he said. “I do not think she will allow the marriage now. And I do not think that I desire it anyway.”
The latter statement Louisa knew for a patent lie, but she did not contradict him. The deflated pomposity was a sight to invite pity not scorn. She merely nodded.
“Naturally I will not find it necessary to keep your secret any longer,” he added, with a maliciousness that drove all pity quite suddenly from Louisa’s heart.
“Naturally,” she replied in the most acid of tones. “And now, if you will excuse me, I have had a bad day and an insufferable evening and I am going to retire.”
And without waiting for his reply she passed the dutifully waiting Drimble, who shut the door behind her with an eagerness that reflected the joy his face did not.
“Drimble, I am not again to be at home to that man,” said Louisa firmly.
“Yes, miss. May I say, miss, how pleased I am to hear that?”
Tired as she was, Louisa smiled. “Yes, Drimble, you may indeed say it.”
And then she turned and made her way up the stairs to the great oak bed. What she needed now was a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow would be a day of great activity and she would need all her wits to face it, but for now she would sleep. Simply sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
The morning sun woke Louisa early. With difficulty she dragged herself from the bed. It was true - now she was free of Harvey, but she had to face the scandal of being uncovered as Lady Incognita.
She settled at her writing desk with pen and paper. There was a great deal to be done. She must notify the man in Shropshire who was looking after Papa’s place there. Then she must decide what to take and what to leave, whether to let the house or to sell it. So many thoughts went tumbling through her head that she could make no sense of any of them.
In despair, Louisa laid her head in her arms and wept bitterly for some moments. But finally she raised her head and dried her eyes. It was not these preparations, difficult as they were, that were causing her so much heartache. It was the knowledge that once she left London she would never again see a certain Viscount.
But if she stayed - Louisa tried to be objective. If the ton dropped her, if she could no longer go to Almack’s, for instance? How much hardship would that really be?
And Atherton had given his word to Harry. Would he go back on that? Wouldn’t he, no matter how angry he was with her, continue with the obligation he had assumed for Harry? Had she any right to take the boy where the good influence of such a man would be denied him?
By breakfast time Louisa had half made up her mind. She would stay put for a while and see how things went. With a sigh she rose and dressed herself with particular care. For if she knew the ton at all, the first visiting hours would bring someone to tell her the tale Harvey had probably already begun to spread.
The dress of lemon sarcenet that she finally chose looked as well as any that Aunt Caroline or Naomi had stitched for her, she thought as she tucked a curl into place and turned to make her way down the stairs. She could do nothing about the violet circles under her eyes.
If the callers came, she supposed that it would be useless to deny Harvey’s accusation. For knowing Atherton as he did, Harvey would not dare make a statement without being able to prove it.
And so she breakfasted, forcing the food past the lump in her throat, and then settled herself in the old chair by the window with her needlepoint and prepared to wait.
It was still far too early for callers when she heard the commotion in the hall. “Milord,” Drimble was saying. “It’s so early. I do not know ...”
Louisa’s heart rose into her throat and the needlepoint fell from her lifeless fingers. Drimble’s tone, could it be ... ?
“I do not care how early it is,” replied Atherton in a voice that ill concealed his anger. “I intend to see Miss Penhope. And I intend to see her now. You may tell her I said so.”
Louisa rose from the chair, the needle-point sliding unheeded to the floor. With trembling fingers she opened the drawing room door. “That will not be necessary, Drimble. Will you step in here, milord?”
Drimble, fading out of sight, was stopped by Atherton’s next words. “Miss Penhope is not at home to anyone, Drimble. Not anyone. Do you under-stand?”
“Yes, milord.” And Drimble vanished without even a glance in Louisa’s direction.
Atherton stormed past her into the drawing room and turned to face her. “Shut the door,” he said harshly, “and come here.”
Obediently Louisa did as she was told. In spite of the fact that he was in a towering rage she found she was not afraid of him. “Really, milord ...” she began.
“Be quiet.” He snapped the words out harshly. “You are going to listen to me.”
“But, Philip ....”
He pulled her to the divan and thrust her down on it. “Enough,” he said sharply. “I have been patient. God knows I have been patient. But this is beyond enough.” He glowered down on her. “You must know that the ton is all abuzz this morning.”
Louisa nodded. So Harvey did have proof.
“Why did you do such an addlepated thing?” he demanded.
Louisa felt herself bristling. He might not approve of her being a writer, but he needn’t be insulting about it. She drew herself up stiffly. “I’m sorry if my means of supporting us doesn’t meet with your approval, milord. But it was the only way I could find.”
Atherton’s face darkened with rage. “How I mistook you,” he cried angrily. “You are as bad as the rest of them. Willing to sell yourself for a fortune.”
Louisa rose from the divan and faced him. “If you are going to insult me,” she said with exaggerated calm, “I must ask you to do it in a more reasonable tone of voice. I do not wish to have my whole household in an uproar. And besides, I do not know what you’re talking about. I am certainly receiving no fortune.”
Atherton’s lips tightened in a grim line. “Do not play any more games with me, girl.” His hands reached out to grip her shoulders with a strength that made her wince sharply.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Hurt?” he shouted, his eyes flashing. “Who are you to speak of hurt? Think, woman. What are you doing to your family? To Harry?”
Louisa struggled in vain to free herself from his grasp. “You forget yourself, milord,” she said icily. “And let us not be so dramatic about things. I do not see how my means of taking care of us will harm Harry.”
Atherton’s grip tightened even more and he shook her savagely. “Woman, are you insane? If you must marry for money, do not sacrifice yourself to a ... a thing like Harvey. Marry me instead.”
Louisa’s knees gave way suddenly and she sagged against him. For a moment it was too much to comprehend. Atherton thought she intended to marry Harvey for his money. He didn’t even know about Lady In
cognita.
And then his second comment penetrated her consciousness and for the merest of moments temptation reared its head. She could have her hero. But no, she could not marry him under false pretenses; any such union would be foredoomed.
Finally she straightened in his arms. “I am not planning to marry Lord Harvey,” said she against his chest.
He held her away from him. “You are not?”
“No, I am not. And you should be ashamed to think so poorly of me.”
“But you said...”
“No. You said,” interrupted Louisa for she knew that her ordeal was not yet over. He had offered to marry her out of compassion, but he would look with the scorn of his class on a lady writer.
Atherton’s face cleared slightly. “It appears we were talking at cross-purposes.”
“It appears so,” agreed Louisa, terribly conscious of his face so close to hers.
“I have made you an offer of marriage,” said the Viscount with a return of his old urbanity, “the first I have ever made in my two and thirty years.”
“I am honored,” said Louisa. “But I must refuse.”
“Refuse!”
“Yes. As I cannot marry a man for his money neither can I marry a man who offers for me out of pity.”
“Pity,” repeated Atherton, his eyes dancing dangerously. “Pity.”
And then he swept her against his chest and his lips came down on hers in a kiss so passionate that it dissolved her bones.
“And does that strike you as pity?” he inquired sternly. Weakly Louisa shook her head. “Good. Now, will you marry me?” For long moments Louisa fought with herself. How easy it would be to accept him, to let Lady Incognita die a quiet death. Or, even if Harvey did spread his tale, Atherton was a man of honor. Once she had accepted him, he would stand beside her. But that was unfair - and she knew it.
“I ... I cannot,” she finally replied.
“You cannot.” Atherton regarded her narrowly. “Do not tell me that you do not have a partiality for me. Not after that kiss.”
Louisa knew it was useless to lie. “No, I will not tell you that. I would marry you if I could. But I cannot.”
“How cannot? Louisa, I must have a
reason.”
“I cannot give you a reason.”
He looked about to shake her again but then restrained himself. “I am not leaving this room until I have heard this reason,” he said sternly.
“Philip, I cannot. My past... It would not do. ...” She sank onto the divan. She could not bear to tell him the truth.
He began to pace the room, talking to himself. “Her past? What lurid secret lies buried in her past? Something dreadful. Something terrible. My God!”
Suddenly he stopped pacing and broke into whoops of laughter. For Louisa, who was already on the verge of tears, this was too much and she gave way and broke into great sobs.
In a moment he was beside her, taking her in his arms, stroking her hair gently. “Little ninny, don’t take on so. I know your dreadful secret.”
Louisa stopped sobbing and sniffled. “You cannot.”
“But I do. Lady Incognita, I do.”
Louisa gazed at him in amazement. “Harvey did tell then.”
Atherton frowned. “No, why? Oh, now I see. The pomposity stumbled on the truth. And used it to his advantage.”
Louisa nodded.
“Little ninny. Didn’t you know that going to the theater with him and his Mama was tantamount to accepting him?”
Louisa shook her head. “I didn’t know that. But the dowager Mama and I had a falling out over the relative merits of Kemble and Garrick. And Lord Harvey could not obtain her permission for our nuptials.”
“How very fortunate for him,” observed the Viscount, his eyes dancing. “I fear you would have made him a dreadful wife.”
Louisa nodded. “But I must not marry you,” she said, trying in vain to extricate herself from his arms. “It would be bad for a man in your position.”
“Your usual wit has deserted you this morning, my love,” said the Viscount. “The ton may talk all it pleases. I do not care.”
“But, Philip ...”
“Listen, little one. I suspected your identity that first day at the abbey and I soon knew.”
“But how?”
“When I set out to do something I spare no trouble. Earlier that day I had visited the Minerva Press and made a friend of the shop boy. And my new friend obligingly told me about the lovely chestnut-haired lady who arrived periodically with a manuscript. And how, one day, being given the manuscript to unwrap, he had discovered that this fabulous creature was Lady Incognita.”
“You knew all along.”
“Yes, I knew all along. And now, woman, I am waiting for an answer. Will you marry me?”
There was something she had to know first. Louisa looked into his eyes. “What Jersey said - about women of experience - you didn’t deny it.”
Atherton’s face darkened again. “I am no innocent, Louisa. But I intend to be a real husband. What Jersey said was true, before. It isn’t true any longer.”
She was satisfied by that. “But Lord Harvey...”
“We will simply forestall him, my love. I shall go to Alvanley and announce your discovery, thus winning my wager.”
“But the talk...!”
Atherton laughed. “You are behaving like a ninny again. Let the ton talk. I will win my wager and gain a bride. And I will also become more eccentric.”
Louisa felt herself giving way to his arguments. How could she help succumbing to such a man?
“You have led me quite a merry chase, my pet,” said Atherton cheerfully, his arm tightening around her.
“I?”
“You. Haven’t you sense enough to know when a man is dangling after you? Compliments, frequent calls, my interest in your siblings, bringing my sister, all that talk about heroes. My God, woman, what did you think I was doing?”
Louisa flushed.
“Come on, out with it,” commanded the Viscount with mock severity.
“I thought you were amusing yourself. I didn’t know ...”
“Louisa.” Atherton’s eyed bored into hers. “When we waltzed. Didn’t you know?”
“I thought I did. But ... but I couldn’t believe it. Philip, you have forgotten. I am just a plain miss with no dower.”
His lordship’s eyes sparkled. “I believe you are mistaken. You are Lady Incognita. What better dower can a man ask? If bad times come upon us - if my proclivity toward gaming should suddenly increase - you can again take up your pen.”
Louisa chuckled. “I know you better now than to believe that you would waste your substance in foolish gaming, especially now that you will have a great many dependants.” She paused, obviously struck by the thought of this addition-al expense. “Really, Philip, perhaps I should continue to write. There are so many of us.”
Atherton laughed and ruffled her hair. “You may write if you choose, but I imagine that I can handle your entire household, including the twenty-five cats.”
With this he drew her tenderly into his arms and kissed her long and thoroughly. As they drew apart, several giggles sounded from the doorway.
“Come in here, you scamps,” ordered the Viscount. “We have something to tell you.”
Betsy’s eyes danced. “I knew it! I knew it! That first day at the abbey I knew it. You’re Louisa’s hero.”
Atherton chuckled. “You have sharp eyes, Betsy, very sharp. Your sister and I will be married - very shortly.”
“Oh!” Betsy squealed in delight. “How wonderful. How absolutely wonderful. And I shall see Apricot.”
Harry, who had advanced into the room and was staring at the sight of his idol with his arm around his sister, was driven by this strange phenomenon to ask suddenly, “Is that the behavior of a gentleman, sir?”
Atherton, pulling Louisa even closer to him, chuckled. “In this case, my boy, it is. But it is also the direct result of my bump of a
mativeness. You are somewhat young yet for instruction in this area, but there will be ample time now and your ‘gentleman’ lessons should advance famously once you are living with me.”
Harry, whose ideas of heroes and matrimony were much slighter than Betsy’s, now had something firm to get ahold of. “Oh, indeed, sir. They will.”
“Fine,” said Atherton. “And now, if you will just run off and tell the aunts and Winky and anyone else you can think of - I have something to discuss with your sister.”
Obediently the children turned to the door, but long before it closed behind them, Atherton had pulled her to him and was kissing her sweetly. Oh, thought Louisa, as she nestled even closer to the man she loved, thank God, heroes did exist.
Copyright © 1980 by Nina Coombs Pykare
Originally published by Curley Large Print (ISBN 0792702298)
Electronically published in 2008 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
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