Daring Deception

by Hiatt, Brenda

  Christabel bent her golden head to the doll’s face again. “She says you are very pretty, Cherry, and she likes you. And she wants to know if she may share my supper tonight.”

  “Certainly she may. I’ll set a place for her at once.” Lucy brought up the evening meal a short time later, and after she had gone Frederica asked, “What does Molly like best for her supper?”

  “Oh, candies and cakes, Cherry! That is all she eats.”

  “That doesn’t sound very nourishing. Are you certain she would not prefer some bread and milk first?” Christabel shook her head firmly. “Molly Dolly eats only sweets, and she is never ill.”

  “I see that Lord Seabrooke was right. Molly has very decided tastes.” She placed one of her own cakes and one of Christabel’s in front of the doll.

  “Could she not have extra cakes just for her?” asked Christabel with a trace of disappointment.

  “I’m afraid tonight we shall have to share,” said Frederica, hiding a smile at the child’s tactics. “Perhaps tomorrow we can convince Cook to send a few extras.” Christabel was certainly not lacking in intelligence, she thought, wondering how often Molly Dolly had successfully doubled her pastries in the past. Surely, surely a better future could be contrived for the girl than the bleak one Miss Milliken had painted!

  * * *

  Over the next few days Frederica established a routine with Christabel, discreetly leaving the house after breakfast for an hour or two in Hyde Park before it become crowded. As Seabrooke House was situated on Upper Brook Street, only a short distance from the Park gates, there was no need to draw unnecessary attention to themselves by taking a carriage or hackney.

  After an early dinner, Christabel customarily napped while Frederica read in her room or went downstairs to preserve the fiction that she was Mrs. Abbott’s assistant. She found, on those occasions, that there was indeed much she could do to help, for the Seabrooke household was in sad disorder. Indeed, Mrs. Abbott seemed more than grateful for her suggestions regarding the management of the establishment. Christabel then had lessons and games until supper, after which she retired for the night, leaving Frederica at liberty until her own bedtime.

  During those first days, Frederica saw little of Lord Seabrooke beyond his daily visit to the nursery and an occasional glimpse of him setting out in his carriage or on horseback as she and Christabel returned from the Park. Fortunately, none of the downstairs servants had yet espied them on their way in or out. Frederica knew that she should give Lord Seabrooke notice so that he could fine Christabel another suitable nanny before she left, but she was so enjoying her time with the child that she was loath to end it.

  One symptom of her reluctance to leave was that she had yet to read through the letters she had secreted in her dresser drawer. She told herself each evening that she was too tired, or that the candle was not bright enough, but those factors, oddly enough, did not keep her from perusing books gleaned from the library downstairs.

  It was after exchanging one volume for another during Christabel’s afternoon nap that Frederica decided to have a look at the rest of the house. Thus far she had seen little beyond the library, nursery and kitchens. Lord Seabrooke was out, she knew, for she had seen him leaving earlier when she had happened to look down from the nursery window. Walking softly so as not to attract attention from the other servants, most especially the leering butler, she peered into the other rooms on the first floor.

  There was a large parlor, obviously intended for entertaining on a lavish scale, that boasted a pianoforte and a harp. Frederica had been used to practicing frequently on both instruments at Maple Hill, and it was with an effort that she refrained from touching them. The dining-room was easily spacious enough to seat forty guests, and the ballroom at the rear of the house was of noble proportions, if in need of a fresh coat of paint.

  As she examined each room, Frederica automatically catalogued the changes she would make in the decor if she were mistress of the house: lighter colours in the dining-room, fresh curtains and matching upholstery in the parlor, gilt on the ballroom plasterwork. Yes, Seabrooke House had the potential to be one of the finest in London, she thought.

  Opening another door, she saw a long, well-lit room with paintings hung along either wall. “Ah, the family gallery,” she murmured to herself. “I wonder what skeletons I might unearth here?” Letting herself quietly into the room, she walked slowly down its length, stopping to admire an occasional portrait or to read the identifying plaque below.

  One painting, in particular, of a beautiful young lady, drew her eye. It was bathed in light from the window opposite, and she paused to gaze at it in delight. The painting could not be very old, she thought, judging by the style of the lady’s gown. As she examined the face before her, she was struck with a sense of familiarity. Surely she had seen those soulful blue eyes, those bright golden curls, before?

  Realization hit her like a splash of cold water. It was Christabel’s face, grown up, that looked out at her from the painting. Had not Lord Seabrooke said that she was the very image of her mother? What effrontery to hang his mistress’s portrait in the family gallery! To be certain, Frederica leaned closer to read the plaque.

  Amity Alexander.

  Alexander? Surely, she thought, Mrs. Abbott had said that was Lord Seabrooke’s family name? Had he married the woman, after all?

  But then she remembered their conversation in the library, his outrage at her brash suggestion, and comprehension abruptly dawned. No, he had not married her. Miss Amity, Christabel’s mother, had not been Lord Seabrooke’s mistress at all.

  She had been his sister.

  CHAPTER 6

  Frederica stared blindly at the painting before her as she tried to adjust her thoughts to this unexpected revelation. Her first feeling was one of profound relief; Lord Seabrooke was not the villain she had thought him. Instead of attempting to hide his illegitimate child from the world, he was protecting his dead sister’s name from censure. Seen in this new light, his actions appeared almost honorable.

  She shook her head slightly. Honorable? Lord Seabrooke was a debauched rake, as evidenced by his appearance three mornings previously. An unscrupulous fortune-hunter, he had used his practiced charm to dupe a gullible young man into signing away his sister’s fortune—a fortune he was already spending! No, in spite of his charity toward his poor orphaned niece, Frederica could not call him honorable.

  But she now had a problem. With her primary accusation against him done away, she was no closer to proving the Earl a scoundrel than she had been at the outset. He was a fortune-hunter, of course, but she rather doubted that an aging housekeeper’s word on that would be enough to invalidate a marriage contract. Surely there must be financial records about the house that would provide more tangible proof? Frederica nodded grimly. The library, where Lord Seabrooke had his desk, would be the place to start her search.

  She had just reached the library door when she heard the Earl’s firm footsteps behind her. Whirling, Frederica held up the leather-bound volume she had obtained earlier. “I was merely coming to exchange a book, my lord,” she began, when a cry from the stairway stopped her.

  “Cherry! Where are you, Cherry?” came Christabel’s high-pitched, childish voice.

  “Oh, dear!” exclaimed Frederica. “I am sorry, my lord—I thought Lucy was with her.”

  Lord Seabrooke looked annoyed, she thought, as well he might. But then, she had warned him how difficult it would be to keep a child forever quiet. Still, she hurried to the stairs as quickly as she could, hoping to minimize the damage. The Earl followed.

  “Christabel, you know you are not to leave the nursery alone,” Frederica admonished the child, seeing her little face peering round the first landing.

  “But, Cherry, I was lonely,” said Christabel petulantly. She had obviously just awakened, still disheveled from her nap. “Why am I not allowed on this staircase?” she asked. “It is ever so much grander than—” She broke off with a cry as
she lost her footing and fell.

  Lord Seabrooke jumped forward, but Frederica was closer. With a speed she didn’t know she possessed, she took the stairs two at a time and caught Christabel before the little girl had fallen more than two or three steps. Sitting down abruptly on the top stair, she cradled and comforted the frightened, sobbing child in her lap while the Earl looked on, his expression unreadable.

  At that moment, Lucy came hurrying down the stairs. “Oh, miss!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “I only stepped out for a minute, but—” She broke off at sight of the Earl.

  “No harm was done, Lucy,” he said as she bobbed a curtsey, “but you may take Christabel back to the nursery now. I think she deserves a treat—oh, and give Molly Dolly one as well.”

  Christabel went willingly enough, cheered by the promise of a treat. Frederica rose to follow, but the Earl’s voice stopped her.

  “You really do care about her, don’t you, Cherry? I have cause to be grateful to you, I think.”

  “She is a very dear child, my lord,” she replied, her heart still beating uncomfortably fast from the fright just past—and perhaps for another reason she chose to ignore. “I am just happy she wasn’t hurt, that I was near enough to prevent it.”

  “Thank you,” he said somberly, still regarding her with disturbing intensity.

  Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Frederica blurted without thinking, “I find I owe you an apology, my lord.” Now why had she said that? she wondered furiously as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

  “An apology?” he echoed curiously. “What for?”

  She took a deep, steadying breath. “For what I thought about you...and Christabel’s mother. I know now that I was wrong.”

  “What the devil do you mean? Wrong about what?” he snapped, his pensive expression giving way to a forbidding frown.

  “I—I was looking about the house and happened on the gallery. I saw the painting of Miss Amity Alexander—your sister, I presume. The resemblance between her and Christabel was quite striking, as you had said.” She braced herself, expecting an outburst. Why had she not held her tongue?

  The Earl glared at her icily for a moment, then let out his breath in a gusty sigh. “I suppose it was inevitable that you should find out, Miss Cherrystone. From Christabel herself, if in no other way.”

  Frederica began to relax. “I find it quite admirable that you should wish to raise her as your own, my lord, and even more so that you would go to such lengths to protect your sister’s memory.” It cost her a pang to admit that, but her sense of fairness compelled it.

  Lord Seabrooke snorted. “I owe her no less, I assure you. I could be no more at fault for the ignominy of Christabel's birth if I had fathered her myself. It was I, you see, who introduced my sister to the blackguard who betrayed her.”

  “A friend of yours?” ventured Frederica.

  He nodded. “A fellow officer, a captain in my regiment. Amity had always lived quietly, for we hadn’t funds enough to give her a London Season,” he said candidly. “I believed I was doing her a favor when I brought Peter Browning home with me on leave. Quite congratulated myself that they hit it off so well, in fact.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “She was such an innocent, and I not much better at the time.”

  Frederica was struck by the parallel with her own situation. Why did brothers take such matters upon themselves for their sisters’ sakes? Women were far more capable of dealing with such things. “He did not marry her?”

  “Oh, perhaps he meant to. But he managed to get himself killed in Spain first. If I’d known what he’d done I’d have finished him before Boney’s troops had the chance!”

  The thought of what Amity must have suffered at the time nearly brought tears to Frederica’s eyes. “How did she take the news of his death?” she asked softly.

  “Not well at all. It is my belief that it broke her mind, in fact. She would never admit to Christabel’s illegitimacy once she was born and insisted on giving her Browning’s name. Kept claiming they’d been married, though of course she had no proof. I did not challenge her on it, but acted as though I believed her. I made certain she had a nurse for Christabel and I visited when I could, which wasn’t often.” He sighed again. “The child has led a lonely life, I fear. Amity loved her, I know, but she was often ill and unable to spend much time with her, and the nurses I hired for her never stayed long.” He looked searchingly at Frederica. “I am glad you are here to look out for her now.”

  “As am I, my lord,” she replied, fighting down a pang of guilt. “She is fortunate to have you here for her, as well.”

  “Me?” He shook his head. “I am not much of an asset, I fear. I know almost nothing about children. You, however, are the very one to help her overcome the obstacles that lie ahead of her.” A twinkle returned to his eyes. “If anyone can meet that challenge, you can, Cherry. Already I perceive that you give obstacles short shrift.”

  “Indeed I do,” agreed Frederica, abruptly remembering her purpose here. “When I am determined upon a course, nothing can turn me from it, I assure you, my lord.”

  Not even your charming smile, she added silently.

  * * *

  In spite of such admonitions to herself, however, Frederica found her resolve wavering later in the day. Would it truly be such a bad thing to be married to Lord Seabrooke? she wondered. He was really rather pleasant, in spite of her intention to dislike him. There was something else about him as well—an invisible quality that drew her to him, even against her will. Was that charm? Something that he turned on for any woman within his radius? She didn’t know, but it disturbed her peace profoundly.

  The next day was Thursday, her half day, and Frederica eagerly looked forward to visiting Milly and bringing her up to date on their campaign. Her thoughts were becoming so muddled that she felt very much in need of Miss Milliken’s unclouded judgment. After tucking Christabel in for her afternoon nap, she had a brief word with Lucy, who was taking over her duties until bedtime, and went down to hail a hackney.

  Frederica spent more time than she had anticipated recounting her experiences of the past few days to her old friend, for every time she paused, Milly prompted her with a question requiring yet more explanation. Gradually, she became aware that Miss Milliken was extracting more from her about her conflicting feelings than she had intended to reveal.

  “What does it matter that I become flustered in his presence, Milly?” she finally asked almost crossly. “You know that I have been around few gentlemen, so it is scarcely wonderful that I should be unsettled by my first close association with one.”

  “So you are now willing to allow that Lord Seabrooke is a gentleman?”

  Frederica let out an exasperated sigh. “You are doing it again, Milly! My sentiments about the man have no bearing on the case. I refuse to be forced to marry anyone, even if he is an angel is disguise. I thought you agreed that Thomas had no right to expect it of me.”

  Miss Milliken regarded her onetime charge somberly. “Your brother has a perfect legal right to do so, Frederica. I did not dispute that. I merely agreed that it was poorly done of him not to discover your wishes in the matter first. Of course, I would do anything in my power to prevent your marriage to a man who seemed likely to mistreat you, but from what you tell me of Lord Seabrooke, I doubt that would be the case. At worst, he might cause you occasional embarrassment, but there are few wives who do not suffer that at the hands of their husbands.”

  Frederica clenched her jaw. She had come half prepared to defend Lord Seabrooke to Milly, but the more her old governess took his part, the more determined she became to do just the opposite. “What of the other matter?” she asked, ignoring Milly’s oblique reference to the Earl’s indiscretions. After all, she had no direct proof of those whatsoever. “He is undoubtedly a fortune-hunter, from what the housekeeper told me. Why, he was nearly destitute before my dowry came so conveniently to his rescue.”

  “It does sound as though he may have mi
sled your brother on that score,” Miss Milliken admitted. “Still, being without funds scarcely makes the man a scoundrel—and that is what you must prove, is it not?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.” Frederica stared at the toes of her serviceable brown shoes. “And now I suspect his first consideration may well have been Christabel’s welfare, and I cannot condemn him for that. Still—” she met her friend’s steady gaze again “—if I can find proof that he deceived Thomas about his lack of fortune, perhaps it will be enough. I believe my brother is already feeling a bit guilty over what he has done, so I doubt he will require a charge of murder.”

  “And if Sir Thomas does agree to the call the match off? What then?” asked Miss Milliken softly.

  Frederica shot her a startled look. “Why, I—I suppose I shall simply go back to Maple Hill and pick up where I left off.” Somehow the prospect did not much appeal to her now. She stood abruptly. “I must be getting back. I promised Christabel that I would bring my pet mice for her to play with, and I had better fetch them.”

  If anything, unburdening herself to Milly had left her more confused than she had been when she arrived.

  * * *

  When the hackney drew up to Seabrooke House, Frederica saw with surprise that an unfamiliar carriage was waiting in the street. The light, elegant cabriolet somehow struck her as being a lady’s vehicle, and though the Earl occasionally had visitors to the house, none she had seen had been women. With liveliest curiosity, Frederica let herself into the house through the back door and proceeded quietly toward the parlor.

  “I have been waiting nearly half an hour!” exclaimed a breathy, feminine voice from within. “Are you certain you don’t know where I might find him? I am quite put out that he should have forgotten.”