“Please, Uncle, say no more for the moment,” Roberta begged. “Let us all go home and discuss how we can extricate Nicholas from this situation with the least possible fuss. Stephen forced him into making the declaration, and—and I refuse to accept it.”
Lord Bromley glanced at Sir Nicholas in alarm. “Very well, my child,” he said gently after Sir Nicholas had nodded. “Nicholas, take her to my carriage. I will collect Ashley and join you outside.”
The short journey to Grosvenor Square was accomplished in silence.
Sir Nicholas, who had walked from his lodgings to the drum and consequently was without transport, sat beside Roberta. He glanced down at her several times, as if to reassure himself that she was all right. But that was the only indication he gave of the concern he felt. His face was a mask, although inwardly he was cursing himself for underrating Stephen and allowing such a scene to take place.
Mrs. Ashley eyed the couple with misgivings. She had been overjoyed when the news of the engagement had reached her. Her moment of triumph, however, had been short-lived. When Lord Bromley rejoined her in the library and told her that it was all a ghastly mistake, she felt sick with disappointment. There was no understanding Roberta, and she couldn’t comprehend why her charge would reject such an advantageous marriage.
Roberta, looking pale and dejected, sat primly on the edge of her seat. She couldn’t understand her companion’s silence, but was grateful for it. She was acutely conscious of Sir Nicholas’s presence and wondered if he already regretted his hasty proposal.
Who could have guessed that her return to England would end in such confusion and unhappiness? It would be so tempting to accept his offer, albeit on a temporary basis, and thus avoid any immediate embarrassment. But could she bring herself to use so noble a man in such a cowardly way?
By the time Williams had halted the carriage outside Lord Bromley’s house, she had convinced herself she couldn’t. She would accept the consequences of her decision as bravely as possible. If Society shunned her, she could always return to the Continent until the incident had been forgotten.
She allowed Lord Bromley to help her inside the house and stood mutely to one side as Mrs. Ashley bid everyone good night.
“Let us adjourn to the drawing room,” Lord Bromley said, “and discuss the implications of this affair in private.” He ushered Roberta and Sir Nicholas into the room and closed the door behind him. “I, for one, Roberta, am convinced that you must accept the situation for the moment, no matter how repugnant it is to you.”
Sir Nicholas raised his eyebrows at this but remained silent. Although he himself wouldn’t have addressed Roberta in those terms, he had to believe that Lord Bromley, with his knowledge of his niece’s moods, knew best.
Perhaps if Sir Nicholas had spoken at that point, Roberta would have had reason to change her mind. But his silence convinced her that he was no more willing than she to become embroiled in such an embarrassing situation. Consequently, she remained firm in her resolve to refuse him.
“I don’t agree, Uncle,” she said gravely. “I can’t see whose best interests it would serve. Certainly not mine or Sir Nicholas’s. I am prepared to face the consequences of my decision, and I’m certain Nicholas will accept it without argument. Indeed, Nicholas,” she continued with a hollow laugh, “I expect you to feel infinitely relieved in the morning that I refused to avail myself of your very kind offer.”
“Will you listen to me for a moment, Roberta?” Sir Nicholas asked. He felt an overwhelming admiration for her show of courage and had to fight the urge to embrace her. “With your uncle’s permission, I will gladly marry you to avoid causing you unnecessary suffering.” His words surprised everyone, including himself.
“Egad, Nicholas!” Lord Bromley exclaimed. “That is most handsome of you.”
Roberta had to struggle to check the anger she felt at this humiliating proposal. What right had any man to be so condescending? she thought. Especially one who had yet to succumb to the torments and uncertainties of loving another being. She became aware that both men were looking toward her, awaiting her answer.
“I think a marriage based on pity, Nicholas, would be disastrous,” she said with quite dignity. “My answer is no. Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will bid you good night. You have a meeting with Sir Lacey, I believe, and I’m sure you will want to prepare for it.” She left the room with unhurried grace before either man could speak.
“It would seem I have made a mull of matters,” Sir Nicholas observed ruefully. “I’m sorry, John. I had no other idea in mind than to ease Roberta’s suffering. I realize now how offensive I must have sounded.”
Lord Bromley shook his head wearily. “You were nothing of the kind, Nicholas,” he said. “Roberta is a wonderful young lady, but headstrong to a fault.”
Sir Nicholas laughed. “I liken her to an unbroken filly,” he murmured with affection. “Difficult to handle, even if one uses a firm hand. Now, about Davenport, John. Do you give me leave to deal with him?”
“In any way you see fit,” Lord Bromley replied. “What do you have in mind?”
“I thought to call him out while everyone is still under the impression that Roberta and I are betrothed. Then, if it should happen that he sustains a fatal injury, we can get by without announcing publicly that he was a traitor.”
Lord Bromley nodded. “Just insure you don’t sustain an injury, Nicholas.”
Chapter 17
Roberta was surprised to see a strange young man already seated at the breakfast table. He was listening to Mrs. Ashley with a patient smile on his pleasant countenance even while suppressing a yawn.
“Ah, Roberta,” Mrs. Ashley exclaimed as Roberta entered the room. “I’m so very glad you have joined us, for I don’t believe you have met Sir Lacey Stigmore. I can’t tell you what a delightful surprise it was to see him seated here. He had an early appointment with Lord Bromley, and your uncle insisted he stay and eat with us.”
As Sir Lacey sprang to his feet, Roberta inclined her head graciously. She, too, was grateful for this diversion and knew instinctively that her uncle had purposely arranged for Sir Lacey to stay in order to protect her from Mrs. Ashley’s questions.
“Sir Lacey,” she said pleasantly, “may I say how pleased I am to make your acquaintance?”
“Miss Rushforth,” he returned, bowing low.
“Please continue with whatever you were discussing,” Roberta said, “while I help myself.” She turned to the sideboard and served herself a small helping of shirred eggs from one of the many warming dishes on display.
As Roberta sat down opposite Sir Lacey, Mrs. Ashley urged her to have more. “I declare, you have quite lost the bloom to your cheeks you acquired in Switzerland,” she said.
“When were you in Switzerland?” Sir Lacey inquired. “I was there myself several years ago, but unfortunately, only for a fleeting visit.”
“And my stay, also unfortunately, was far too long.” Roberta laughed, grateful for his timely intervention. She found Mrs. Ashley’s fussing too much to bear today. “I was there for six months, undergoing treatment for a lung disorder.”
“I am sorry,” Sir Lacey responded. “It was nothing serious, I hope.”
“No, thank goodness,” Mrs. Ashley replied. “The specialists were wonderful, weren’t they, Roberta? The sanitorium we stayed in was more palatial than most manor houses I’ve seen in England. And the service was excellent.”
Roberta was content to let Mrs. Ashley carry the conversation. She studied Sir Lacey from beneath lowered lashes and decided she liked what she saw. His firm chin jutted out arrogantly, and his eyes, although red-rimmed from lack of sleep, seemed to constantly assess what he saw. He was not a handsome man, but she found the air of purpose about him attractive. In many ways, he reminded her of Sir Nicholas.
She sighed as the image of Sir Nicholas rose before her, and wondered if she would ever be able to face him again with any degree of calmness.
&nb
sp; Roberta was aroused from her reverie by the appearance of Perkins, who coughed discreetly and passed her a note from Lord Bromley requesting her immediate presence. She interrupted Sir Lacey, much to Mrs. Ashley’s annoyance, and excused herself.
Lord Bromley looked rumpled, but there was a triumphant gleam in his eyes.
“That young man in the dining room, Roberta,” he said without preamble, “is quite remarkable. I hope you treated him with due respect.”
Roberta laughed in relief. She had been certain her uncle had summoned her to persuade her to change her mind about Sir Nicholas, but obviously that was furthest from his mind.
“I gave him a withering look when he presumed to engage me in conversation and have just now left him crying in despair on Mrs. Ashley’s shoulder,” she said gaily. “Really, Uncle, I’m surprised you even ask. It’s your shocking lapse in manners that should be questioned. Sir Lacey was nonplussed, to say the least, when he realized you had abandoned him to the ministrations of two ladies.”
“Nonsense, my gal, nonsense,” Lord Bromley responded jovially. “He must get used to being plunged into unexpected situations. He has to learn to hold his own, to act like a chameleon and take on the hue of his surroundings. Once he has mastered all those arts, he’ll go far. Mark my words, Roberta, he’ll go far.”
“You’re very jolly this morning,” she teased. “Has Sir Lacey, perchance, managed to solve some of your more pressing problems?”
“If you mean ‘has he discovered what secrets have been passed to the enemy?’ the answer is yes. And the comte used the oldest ploy in the world, Roberta, to extract these secrets from my colleagues.”
“Feminine wiles?” Roberta suggested.
“Yes, feminine wiles. The comte employed a certain young lady of great beauty, known as Veronique, who enticed my colleagues into her boudoir. There, after being administered drugged drinks, they willingly answered all the questions she asked. I can only presume that Lambert and Tytler realized what they had done and, disgraced at being unwitting traitors, took their own lives.”
“How did Sir Lacey manage to make this young lady talk?” Roberta inquired, impressed by the young man’s discovery.
“By speaking of Tytler. She had no idea he was dead, and was very upset when she heard of his untimely demise. Unbeknownst to the comte, she had made the fatal mistake of falling in love with him.”
“Oh, the poor girl,” Roberta exclaimed, immediately understanding her plight. “How terrible for her.”
“Doubly so,” Lord Bromley remarked. “For Lacey is convinced that she had no idea how she was being used by the comte. Her only interest was the money she received. It seems she has an invalid brother who needs expensive help.”
“The fiend! Yet it is what one should expect, I suppose. Men like the comte always manipulate the weak. What will happen to her now?”
“We’ll take care of her and her brother, as long as she agrees to testify against the comte.”
“And will she?”
“I’ll know later, when Nicholas returns.”
“Will—will her testimony provide sufficient proof?” Roberta inquired, deliberately veering away from the subject of Sir Nicholas.
“If she doesn’t falter. However, as I daren’t depend on her, it is still imperative that we force the comte to compromise himself.” He broke off and stared out of the window, a pensive expression on his face.
“And you still want me to aid you, is that it?”
“Not if you don’t want to, Roberta,” he responded. “Nicholas and I discussed that aspect last night after you left us. I can find another way, if need be, of informing the comte that I possess Tytler’s letter of confession.”
“But it would be more expedient if I were the conduit?”
“It would.”
“Very well, Uncle. Then you must tell me what I am to do.”
*
Roberta was thoughtful when she left Lord Bromley’s study half an hour later, and she hoped his optimism wouldn’t prove unfounded. Now there was nothing any of them could do until the comte paid her a call. In spite of Lord Bromley’s certainty that that event would occur later the same day, she wasn’t at all sure. She couldn’t quite believe that the contretemps caused by Stephen would cause the comte to rush back to London to see her.
Lord Bromley was correct, though. Not fifteen minutes after she had left her uncle, the butler announced the comte had called.
“Show him into the front parlor,” she said. “I will join him there. Please inform my uncle that he has arrived.”
It was a full twenty minutes, however, before she could summon sufficient courage to face him. And it was to her credit that, when she eventually entered the parlor, she looked genuinely pleased to see him.
“How glad I am that you chose such a melancholy day to visit,” she remarked. “My spirits are in need of a diversion that only you can provide.”
The comte caught her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. “Mon enfant, why are you so sad? Could it be that you are already regretting your engagement to Sir Nicholas?”
Roberta started and pulled her hand away. “I had hoped that story wouldn’t have reached you,” she whispered forlornly. “It’s not true, and if Mr. Davenport hadn’t behaved so vilely, I could have informed Sir Nicholas that I had no intention of accepting his offer.”
“So Sir Nicholas did propose, did he?”
“Yes,” Roberta responded. “That I can’t deny. Oh! monsieur, if only you had been there last night, none of this would have happened.”
“Ma pauvre enfant. Please don’t distress yourself. I will stand by you and lend what support I can.”
“Why, thank you, monsieur, that is most gallant of you. Although, in my present state of despondency, even that kind offer will do little to elevate my spirits, I’m afraid.”
“What else has happened to overset you?” he inquired quickly.
“My depression is caused by the death of one of my friends. The scene last night merely added to it.”
“A close friend?” he asked, squeezing her hand sympathetically.
Roberta nodded and allowed the tears that had suddenly welled up in her eyes to flow freely down her cheeks. “Please forgive me,” she mumbled into his corded jacket. “It was just that Tytler was like a brother to me.”
“Tytler Edwardson?” the comte queried. As Roberta looked up at him, she saw his eyes narrow in a calculating fashion. “I had no idea he was dead,” he added. “When did it happen?”
“You knew him?” Roberta asked, feigning surprise.
“Not well,” he responded suavely. “We were merely nodding acquaintances.”
“Then you can’t really know what a sad loss it is. Poor, poor Tytler. And to have killed himself the day after he told me that he had made certain preparations to clear his name…” She broke off in distress. “It doesn’t make sense, does it?” she whispered.
“I wasn’t aware of any slur attached to his name,” the comte remarked casually. “Perhaps you misheard him, mon enfant.” He walked over to the window and stared out. “What, exactly, did he say?” he inquired casually.
Roberta shrugged and joined him in the recess. She noticed immediately that the knife sharpener was back in his position under the oak tree, and this distracted her for a moment. “I—I can’t recall,” she said nervously. “I—I assumed he was talking about his ill-fated liaison with Sir Lacey Stigmore’s sister.”
“I hadn’t heard that on-dit.”
“Oh, dear! Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it. But the fact remains that I don’t understand why Tytler saw fit to end his own life, when he had written to Sir Lacey with a full explanation of his behavior.” She was watching him intently and was gratified to see a look of alarm flit across his face. “I mean, what shame could Tytler possibly have brought to the Edwardson name that would make him take such a drastic step?” She fumbled in the folds of her dress for her pocket and finally located her handkerchief. She drew
it out and, under the pretext of blowing her nose, was able to study his obvious discomfort at her news.
“Have you seen this letter?” he inquired with some urgency.
“No…no, not yet, but maybe when my uncle has it, he will let me read it.”
“I don’t understand,” the comte said.
“When I heard of Tytler’s death and told my uncle of the letter, he summoned Sir Lacey here in order to obtain a copy. I believe my uncle wanted to satisfy himself of the true cause of Tytler’s suicide.”
The comte swore softly.
“Have I said something to concern you?” she asked.
“Not really. It’s just that I saw Sir Lacey last night, and he didn’t mention anything about it.”
“I don’t find that surprising, monsieur. He would, I’m sure, be reluctant to discuss it with anyone for fear of inflicting further damage on his sister’s reputation.”
The comte laughed. To Roberta, it sounded more like a sneer. “Of course, mon enfant. I forgot for a moment how prudish you English are.”
“Quite so,” she murmured, and moved away, wondering how she could persuade him to go before Mrs. Ashley discovered her alone with him.
The problem, however, was solved by the comte himself moments later. He drew out his time piece and exclaimed in affected annoyance, “Please forgive me, ma chérie. I must take my leave of you. I’m expected somewhere in a few minutes on urgent business.”
“Will you call on me again soon?” she asked.
“I will not allow so much time to elapse before I see you again; that I promise.” He walked over to her and taking her chin in his hand, forced her to look up at him. “Au revoir, ma chérie,” he murmured.
For a moment Roberta thought he was going to kiss her, and she quickly averted her face. “Please, monsieur, Ashley may join us any minute.”
“The day will soon be here when you can dispense with such maidenly concern,” he snapped, and was gone before Roberta could respond.
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