Alyssa Everett

by A TrystWith Trouble

  I’d heard the same lecture from Papa myself, when I’d shown him the duchess’s invitation to accompany her to Newgate. It had taken more than an hour of wheedling to convince him to allow me to go. Only my mother’s unexpected support, apparently offered because Cliburne’s defection raised the alarming specter she could end up with two unmarriageable daughters on her hands, had managed to turn the tide. “Please don’t say such things in front of the duchess when she arrives to collect me.”

  Helen fumed. “Don’t worry, my manners are better than that. But I’ll be thinking them just the same!”

  Since learning Cliburne had cried off, Helen had been as crotchety as a hornet in a hatbox. With a heroic effort, I’d managed to resist the urge to respond in kind, mostly by reminding myself that Ben’s acquittal depended on her goodwill. Besides, I understood her sulks better than most. I’d had all my adult life to adjust to being passed over like cold mutton, but for Helen it must have come as an ugly shock.

  Sighing, I chose two pairs of gloves from my chest of drawers and held them up for her inspection. “Which looks better with this gown and this spencer, the York tan or the lemon kid?”

  “What difference does it make?” After a moment, clearly unable to resist an appeal to her fashion sense, she said sullenly, “The tan gloves are better with that blue.”

  “Then the tan it is.” I wasn’t used to currying Helen’s favor, but there was little I wouldn’t do to aid Ben’s cause.

  She tossed her head. “Too bad such refinements will be lost on a clodpole like Beningbrough.”

  Ignoring this last shot, I gathered up my reticule and my bonnet and started downstairs to await the duchess’s arrival. Helen, apparently at a loss for company now that she had no gentleman present to dance attendance on her, trailed listlessly after me.

  As usual, Frye was manning the front door. “I’m expecting the Duchess of Ormesby,” I told him. “Watch for her carriage, and send to the morning room the instant you see it. I shouldn’t wish to keep Her Grace waiting.”

  “As you wish, my lady.”

  I started away, but Frye cleared his throat in an apparent bid for permission to speak. “Yes?” I said, turning back.

  He flushed. “Pardon me, my lady, I know it’s not my place, but...surely you’re not going to see Lord Beningbrough?”

  If he were any other servant, I would have found both the question and the vaguely disapproving tone presumptuous, especially since Helen threw me a superior glance, as if to say, Do you see? Even our footman mistrusts him. But this was faithful, awkward Frye. Of all our servants, he’d always been the most attentive and the most loyal to me personally. Just this week, hadn’t he delivered my message about the blackmail notes to Beningbrough, and brought me my dinner on a tray when Papa locked me in my room? “Is there something wrong with that, Frye?”

  He flushed. “No, my lady, I just...I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, that’s all.”

  “Have you forgotten two men were killed here? I expect I’ll be safer at Newgate, where at least the murderers are locked securely behind bars.”

  “You believe Lord Beningbrough is guilty, then?”

  Behind me, Helen tittered, but I ignored it. “I didn’t say that. I simply meant nothing alarming is likely to happen to me with both the duchess and the prison guards close by.”

  Frye’s face worked anxiously. “You could take me along, my lady, and I...I could attend you when you speak to Lord Beningbrough, in case he should try anything—”

  If Ben did try anything, I sincerely hoped it would be an overture of a more private nature. The mere thought made my pulse skitter, though I still had no idea how Ben felt about my wanton behavior in the morning room. When I hadn’t been agonizing over the murder charges he faced, I’d been worrying he must think me shockingly fast. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure the duchess will have her own footmen to attend us.”

  He frowned. “But it could be dangerous for you. You shouldn’t be alone with that kind of—”

  “Thank you, but I won’t be needing you.” Though his concern was understandable given the pall hanging over the house since Sam Garvey’s death, his continued objections bordered on impertinence, for he sounded more like a jealous suitor than a loyal servant. Starting toward the morning room again, I remarked in an undertone to Helen, “Sometimes Frye can be a little too attentive.”

  She gave a contemptuous sniff. “He never frets that way over me.”

  She flounced into the morning room a step ahead of me, and for the next ten minutes I had to endure her litany of complaints against Cliburne, Ben and men in general. At last Frye appeared to announce darkly that the Duchess of Ormesby’s carriage had arrived. I jumped up, hastily tying my bonnet under my chin as both Helen and Frye watched with sour, censorious looks.

  Outside, a small woman in a stylish Vienna green walking dress was just alighting from her carriage. She glanced up and saw me pelting out the door toward her. “Lady Barbara?”

  I halted in my tracks and sank into a deep curtsey. “Yes, Duchess.”

  Her eyes no sooner swept over me than she broke into a delighted smile. “Why, you’re exactly as I’d hoped!”

  Despite the trials of the last few days, my spirits rose. “How very kind of you, ma’am. And thank you for the invitation.”

  “Oh, you mustn’t thank me. It was Beningbrough’s idea. He asked for you most particularly.”

  My spirits rose even further. I joined her in the carriage, and as we settled ourselves on the plush squabs of green velvet I had an opportunity to observe her more closely. Though in her middle years, she was still a strikingly lovely woman, with smooth skin, dark curls streaked with silver, and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. I could detect little of Ben in his mother, however, for she was as small and dainty as my sister, and she had the quick, bright manner of a chaffinch.

  The carriage started off. “How is Beningbrough’s case progressing, ma’am?” I asked. “Has Sir Francis Ames been able to offer much encouragement?”

  The duchess sighed. “I wish I knew. Ormesby assures me this is all bound to come out well in the end, but I can see he’s not convinced of it himself. He likes to think I can’t tell when he’s bamming me, when in truth no one could be easier to read.” There was nothing critical in her tone, only the utmost affection.

  “But Lord Beningbrough—he’s in tolerable spirits?”

  “A trifle down in the mouth, I think, but I have every hope your visit today will cheer him.” She sat for a moment in thought before turning toward me confidentially. “Tell me, Lady Barbara, have you ever been sickly?”

  “Sickly?” I blinked in surprise. “No, ma’am.”

  “Ah, good! And what are your views on children?”

  “Children?”

  “Yes. You don’t find them tiresome, do you, or believe they ought to be kept out of the way and brought up entirely in the country?”

  Confused, I answered, “No, not at all. I have a niece and two nephews here in Town for the Season, my eldest brother’s children, and I would sooner spend time with them than with a good many of the adults I know.”

  “Then you don’t grow impatient with children when they’re a trifle on the spirited side?”

  I hoped the question implied some personal curiosity about my temperament, and not that she had an acquaintance in need of a reliable governess. “I’ve been accused of being a bit too boisterous myself.”

  “But with a care for the children’s safety just the same?” asked the duchess on an anxious note.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Smiling, she leaned toward me eagerly. “And what is your thinking on greatcoats, Lady Barbara?”

  It dawned on me that the duchess, while clearly possessed of great personal charm, was not quite right in the head. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

  She seized my gloved hands impulsively in her own. “Do you think a person should wear a greatcoat when there’s a chill in the ai
r, even if the calendar insists it’s spring?”

  My Grandmama Merton had once told me that the wisest course when dealing with lunatics was simply to humor them. With this advice in mind, I met the duchess’s gaze and spoke with great firmness. “If there’s a chill in the air, it would be foolish not to wear one.”

  Releasing my hands, the duchess sat back with a look of profound satisfaction. “Oh, I’m so pleased, my dear! That’s exactly what I hoped you’d say.”

  Ben

  I heard her voice first—that low, husky purr that made everything she said sound like a challenge.

  I was sitting on my cot, counting the stone blocks in the opposite wall for the third or fourth time that day, and the sound of her voice actually made my toes curl in my boots. I jumped up and crossed to the door of my cell, pressing myself to the bars. Barbara and my mother were following the turnkey up the passageway. My heart gave a bound at the sight of two such welcome figures—and as unfilial as it may be to admit it, my eyes skipped past my mother to fix hungrily on Barbara.

  She wore a white lutestring gown and a spencer of peacock blue, and she walked with fluid, determined steps. Against the backdrop of her family’s Berkeley Square drawing room, Barbara possessed an undeniable allure. Striding the dismal corridors of Newgate, her head high and her red hair vibrant against the blue of her bonnet, she was the most thrilling sight I’d ever seen. It was as if some exotic rara avis had landed in the most unlikely of places, this gloomy prison with its fetid air and grim stone walls.

  She caught sight of me leaning on the cell bars and closed the last few yards in a gratifying rush. “Ben!” She gazed through the bars at me, her expression mingling glad reunion with frank concern.

  I glanced quickly to my mother, who, as I’d expected, was watching closely. I didn’t want her getting her hopes up about my future with Barbara, not when I had no definite future to speak of. It was disheartening enough knowing what I had to say to Barbara. I didn’t need my mother’s disappointment on my conscience too.

  “Lady Barbara, Mama.” I greeted them with a measured smile. “How thoughtful of you both to come and see me.”

  At my cautious welcome, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Barbara’s face, but it faded as the turnkey unlocked the heavy door to my cell.

  “Goodness, I just remembered,” my mother said in a transparently inauthentic attempt to sound spur-of-the-moment. “Ormesby wished me to speak to the prison governor about...something. You’ll excuse me for a few minutes, won’t you, Lady Barbara?”

  “Yes, of course, ma’am.” Barbara stole a flustered glance in my direction.

  After a whispered exchange with the turnkey, my mother stood back as he admitted Barbara and closed the cell door with a clang. “I’ll be back in a trice, Ben, dear,” she called, starting down the corridor with the guard.

  Their footsteps died away. Barbara looked at me for a moment, and I looked back at her. Then she launched herself headlong into my arms.

  “Oh, Ben!” She pressed her face so tightly to my chest, her words were all but muffled in my coat. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you.”

  She felt so good, so soft and sweet-smelling. She was just the right height for her head to nestle against my shoulder. But even her sweetness held a hint of temptation, for her warm curves pressed against me in all the most maddening places. I wanted to gather her close and never let her go.

  But it wouldn’t do to lose my resolve, so I simply pulled back far enough to look down at her face. “Sorry?” I said on a teasing note. “These are considered state apartments, I’ll have you know. Not every prisoner can boast a cell the size of mine. And aren’t you going to congratulate me on my conspicuous lack of leg irons?”

  At my tone, she looked up. Her worried expression slowly eased, until the arch smile I knew so well emerged. “Congratulate you? I was hoping to find you in chains. It would do wonders for your humility.”

  I grinned, until I realized how dangerously close I was to stumbling into a jest about getting leg-shackled. I released her and continued briskly, “So what news is there? Did you and my mother have a chance to become better acquainted during the drive here?”

  “Yes, and she’s an absolute darling. A trifle eccentric, perhaps, but exactly what one would wish for in a—” she hesitated, “—in a friend’s mother.”

  I noticed the hesitation and knew what she’d really meant to say. Mother-in-law. I felt low enough to slither under a particularly low rock. After the intimacies Barbara and I had shared before my arrest, she had every right to expect a declaration. Any honorable man would already have made one. And why had I asked her here? To convince her we should go our separate ways.

  I folded my arms in what was meant to pass for nonchalance. “How are things at Leonard House? Tell me you haven’t had any further cause for alarm.”

  “No more deaths or intruders. I could almost wish there had been, to prove you weren’t responsible.”

  I flinched at this show of loyalty, which only made me more conscious of my own reserve. “And your sister...?”

  “She didn’t take it well when Cliburne called off their engagement, and I’m afraid she’s being difficult now about recanting her testimony. But I’m doing my best to win her over, and I believe she’ll reconsider once the hurt wears off. We’re only asking for the truth, after all, and it was Cliburne’s idea to cry off, not yours.”

  How had a girl like Barbara ended up with a sister like Lady Helen? My life was at stake. My name and my character were being vilified in the papers, exposing my entire family to scandal and scorn. I had no honorable option left except to distance myself from the woman I loved. And Lady Helen insisted on sticking to her lies and innuendo merely because she was in a pet about Teddy’s defection?

  But I kept a grip on my temper. As much as I might itch to throttle Lady Helen, I was determined not to make Barbara feel worse about an already wretched situation. Whatever might happen to me, the two girls would always be sisters. “I appreciate your trying to persuade her for my sake.”

  Barbara’s green eyes gazed up into mine. “You must know I’d do anything to help you, Ben.”

  I looked away and had to swallow down the lump that came suddenly to my throat. “Perhaps you shouldn’t become too caught up in my problems.”

  Her slim brows drew together. “What do you mean? Of course I’m caught up in them. Even if I didn’t feel responsible for your being here in the first place, I couldn’t possibly sit by, knowing you were locked away in this awful place, falsely accused.”

  She moved closer, as if inviting me to sweep her into my arms again. I resisted the urge to do just that and took a step backward. “You mustn’t feel obliged to help me.”

  She frowned uncertainly. “Well, not obliged, perhaps. That sounds as if we’re talking about some trivial social duty, like returning a morning call. But if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, naturally I mean to—”

  I cut her off with a shake of my head. “Don’t put yourself out for my sake, Barbara. I realize you’re generous enough and brave enough to do whatever I might require, believe me, but I haven’t the right to ask it of you.”

  “The right?” Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  I squared my shoulders. “What I’m trying to say is, I wouldn’t want people to suppose some kind of understanding exists between us. In fact, I’m convinced it would be better for you to be free of any association with me.”

  Good God, it hurt to say such a thing. It didn’t help that she paled when I said it.

  I reminded myself that I would soon be on trial for my life, that I could very well end up kicking at the end of a rope. “Don’t worry about the trial,” I went on. “I’ll be fine, whatever happens. In fact, if you were to end up forgetting about me or...or promised to some other lucky man, I’d understand. I’d more than understand. I’d be glad to know you’d moved on.”

  It was supposed to sound noble and clear-headed, as if I’d ma
de my peace with whatever Fate might hold in store. In case the worst should happen, I didn’t want her wasting her life, wearing the willow for my sake.

  Barbara stared. Her mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Finally she said in a whisper, “You think I should find someone else?”

  “Well...that would be for the best, wouldn’t it? I want you to be happy.”

  Her hands clenched and unclenched convulsively at her sides. “But I thought...I don’t know why, but I assumed—”

  I managed an offhand laugh, mostly to hide the wave of desolation washing over me. “I know. I hoped things would turn out differently too. We made a fine team for a while there, didn’t we?”

  Where were my mother and the turnkey? If Barbara went on looking at me in that heart-wrenching fashion one more minute, her eyes suspiciously bright and her face so pale the freckles stood out on her nose, all my resolve was going to snap and I was going to pull her into my arms and kiss her. And I couldn’t let that happen, because then I’d forget all my good intentions and take back every word I’d just said.

  She gulped. “If this is because I was too forward that day in the morning room... If I’ve given you a disgust of me—”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” I said quickly, holding up my hands in disavowal. “If you want the truth, I enjoyed every second of what we did. I...I loved it! But thank God we didn’t take things any farther. You’re still...er, in possession of your virtue.”

  “My God.” She took a tottering step toward my cot. “You’re completely serious.”

  She looked as if she were going to be sick. Even when Sam Garvey had been lying in the entry hall of her family’s house with his blood pooling on the floor, she hadn’t looked half so shaken. “Barbara, don’t take this the wrong way. You’re a wonderful girl.”

  “A wonderful girl...” She sat down heavily on my cot before looking up at me with blazing eyes. “I thought you were different.”

  I winced. “I am different. But I’m accused of a capital crime, for God’s sake. Look around you, and try to consider the situation objectively for a minute—”