A Lady Never Tells

by Candace Camp

  Royce raised his brows. “I am accounted an excellent dance partner.”

  “Not as good as I am.”

  “And you are such a humble man as well,” Mary said with a laugh.

  “One cannot be humble about some things,” Fitz tossed back. “When it comes to dancing or making a bow, I would challenge any man.”

  “It would be less maddening if it were not true,” Royce conceded.

  The butler, Bostwick, appeared at the doorway, hovering until the occupants of the room turned toward him. “The trunks have arrived, my lady,” he said, bowing to Charlotte. “Where would you have me put them?”

  Charlotte’s face lit up. “The clothes!” She turned toward the girls, her eyes sparkling. “Where would you like to have your new clothes taken?”

  Lily sprang up with a barely stifled shriek. “Our new dresses? You brought them with you?”

  “Yes. The wagon with the trunks was slower than we were, but apparently it has arrived. Shall we send them up to your bedchamber, Lily, and sort them out there?”

  “Yes, oh, yes!”

  Charlotte laughed and gave a nod to the butler. Turning back to the men, she smiled, looking only slightly less merry than the Bascombe sisters. “If you gentlemen will excuse us, I believe a higher duty calls.”

  “Ah, yes, the goddess of fashion. I can hear her now.” Fitz grinned. “We shall be quite devastated without you, of course, but we understand. And I shall look forward to seeing what you wear down to dinner tonight.”

  “We shall choose the prettiest ones just for you,” Lily promised.

  Mary was swept with relief as the women rose. She exited the room with the others, leaving Royce and his brother together.

  “A drink to clear the dust of the road from your throat?” Royce asked, starting for the door.

  “God, yes. A cigar would be nice as well. I always forget what a devilish long drive it is from London.”

  “No doubt that’s why you rarely come.” Royce strolled with him down the hall to the smoking room and crossed to the liquor cabinet.

  He thought of Mary in this room with him the other night, remembering the sight of her pale body as the nightgown gave way in his hands. And beneath him this afternoon in the summerhouse. Determinedly, he pushed the thought of her out of his mind as he poured his brother a drink.

  “I am glad you came up early.” Royce offered Fitz the box of cigars. “I have put the servants on the alert and brought two of my grooms from Iverley as well, but I’m glad to have the best marksman in England in the house.”

  Fitz shrugged. “Oliver and I thought I should come, after the letter you sent. Sounds as though it was a good idea, given what my cousins were just telling me. Did someone really try to kidnap Rose again?”

  “Apparently. I wasn’t there. I had told them not to go anywhere without telling me, but of course they went charging off on their own as soon as their chaperone came down ill. Blasted woman.”

  “Yes, it was rather inconsiderate of her to fall sick.”

  Royce gave him a sour look. “Easy for you to make light of it. You aren’t the one who has to attempt to keep them in order.”

  “Is it that great an ordeal?” Fitz asked, his blue eyes laughing.

  Royce let out a short bark of humorless laughter. “One must explain to them that they cannot simply go wandering down to the stables to look at the horses or chat with the stableboys, as apparently they were wont to do at the tavern back home. Or why the servants take it amiss when the girls start helping the footmen move the furniture. The dancing lessons are fine, but every day there is a new quarrel with Miss Dalrymple. She is a tiresome woman, I admit. But I cannot always side with them against her, and Miss Dalrymple is usually right, although God knows I wish she could find a more felicitous way of telling them how to behave. And that she could overlook some of their minor transgressions.”

  “They are wild?”

  “Not wild, exactly. Simply … accustomed to more freedom than an English lady. Miss Dalrymple is correct; their ways will probably get them into trouble. Yet one cannot want to see them … suppressed.”

  “I think the Bascombes would be devilish hard to suppress.” Fitz paused, then added carefully, “You seem to have become fond of the American girls.”

  “Fond?” Royce’s brows soared, and he let out a chuckle. “I don’t know that I would have described it quite that way, but … yes, they are amusing. Life is never dull when they are about.”

  “And is there one in particular whom you find ‘amusing’?”

  Royce shot his brother a cautious look. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I mean that it appeared to me just now that when you entered the room, your eyes went straight to Cousin Mary. And there was more in your gaze than when you looked at anyone else.”

  “Lady Mary and I are … I find her …” Royce glanced around, then set his glass down with a thud. “Truth be told, I plan to marry her.”

  “What!” Fitz leaned forward in his chair. “Are you serious? You are going to marry the girl?”

  “Of course I’m serious. But she’s furious with me right now—and rightly so.”

  “You gave her a bear-garden jaw over their going off alone?” Fitz ventured. “The girls told me you looked black as thunder and held her back to have a few words with her. They were all for going down to the tarn to rescue Mary, but I managed to talk them out of it.”

  Royce looked at his brother for a long moment, then said, “Not exactly. Well, I mean, yes, that is part of it.” He began to pace. “She thinks me overbearing. And I have not—well, the truth is, I seem to regularly lose my head when I am dealing with her.” He turned, giving Fitz a tight smile. “Perhaps I should get your advice before I ask her. You are always a hand with the ladies.”

  Fitz, who had been watching Royce with great interest, shrugged. “I know nothing about proposing, I can tell you that. I am careful to stay away from any talk of marriage. As well as from young ladies. I prefer to pay my addresses to actresses or opera dancers or genteel widows—”

  “Or married women,” Royce interjected with some sarcasm.

  “Only those with complaisant husbands. I don’t fancy being embroiled in a duel. After all, I could scarcely shoot the fellow, but I have little desire to delope and then find the man is a good shot.”

  “That would present a problem.”

  “The important thing is, I choose women who know what they are about, who are interested in a romance that is mutually enjoyable—not some young girl who wants your heart laid at her feet and your ring upon her finger.”

  “On the other hand, marriage is precisely what I’m interested in.”

  His half brother studied him with a certain fascination. “I had not heard of this before.”

  “There is the estate, after all.” Royce made an offhand gesture. “One has to think about the matter of heirs.”

  “Ah, yes. The estate. Heirs. It all makes sense now.” Fitz swirled the remaining liquor around in his glass, watching it intently.

  “And I am of an age to marry now. Time to settle down.”

  “Quite. You are, in fact, approaching middle age.”

  “I am quite aware that you are making jest of me.” Royce looked at his brother.

  “What? I?”

  Royce grimaced. In the past he would have told his brother everything. He could not remember ever holding back about any problem concerning a woman. He had few qualms about revealing his own transgressions—in fact, he would have loved to confess his guilt, to admit how rashly he had acted, how he had tossed aside all honor in the heat of his hunger for Mary. It would be a welcome catharsis. But this time, he could not tell even Fitz. This involved Mary’s honor as well as his own.

  Royce turned away. “Anyway, that is neither here nor there. What we need to concern ourselves with right now is this madman who keeps trying to steal Rose.”

  “The girls tell me they saw his face today and have no idea who he
is—although they are inclined to believe that he is the man who followed them in London. Did you know about that?”

  “Yes.” Royce sighed. “I thought nothing about it at the time. They went walking alone one day, and they tend to, um, draw attention to themselves. I assumed it was some chap who thought the worst of them. He ran when Camellia confronted him.”

  “It seems bizarre that he would have been so taken by Rose that he followed her out of the city and has tried to abduct her twice.”

  “I agree.”

  “Course, some men are dashed loose screws. And Rose is a remarkably attractive woman.”

  Royce nodded. “She is a beauty—though I would say that Mary is the better-looking of the two.” He was turned away from Fitz and did not see the amused glance his half brother sent him.

  “Do you think it could be someone who has followed them from America?” Fitz asked.

  Royce turned to look at him. “That seems even more unlikely than following them from London.”

  “It is a good distance. But at least he would be acting upon more than a chance sighting of Rose on the street.”

  “I suppose so. But wouldn’t the girls have recognized him?”

  “If they are telling you the truth.”

  “What a devious mind you have.” Royce crossed his arms, considering the matter. “The Bascombes may dress their stories up a bit, but I don’t think they would lie. Mary got a bump on the head the night the fellow tried to take her sister, and the other girls were clearly drugged. And I heard screams and shots this afternoon as I was going toward the tarn. It seems an elaborate ruse, especially since the result will be more of the restrictions they dislike.” Royce sighed. “I thought I had the situation well in hand after the incident in the garden.”

  “What incident? There was something else?”

  Royce told him about the fright Mary had had in the maze. Fitz, listening to the description of the footprint, frowned.

  “But that footprint would not fit the man the girls say tried to abduct Rose just now,” Fitz pointed out. “They said he wore a cap and rough clothes.”

  “Yes. I’ve seen the cap; it does not seem to go with the gentleman’s shoeprint. Which is a trifle worrisome.”

  “You think there could be two of them?” Fitz’s voice rose skeptically.

  “Frankly, I didn’t see how there could be one of him. I sent my grooms to the village, even went there myself to ask a few questions. No one has seen a stranger around lately. Certainly no one’s been at the inn or renting a cottage. Oliver’s gamekeeper said that once or twice he’s found evidence of a campfire in the woods, but that could be travelers camping off the road, or a poacher.” He shrugged. “I’ve instructed the gardeners to watch out for the girls and to stay around whenever they are in the garden. I have the gamekeeper’s men patrolling the perimeter of the grounds, and at night there is a guard outside the house.”

  “I would think that would have been enough to scare away even the most determined abductor.”

  “I thought so as well. Until this afternoon.”

  “It doesn’t seem practical in the long run to continue keeping such a heavy guard on the girls.”

  “I agree.”

  “And my cousins appear to be chafing at the restrictions imposed upon them.”

  “That is putting it mildly.”

  “Then I suppose we’d better figure out who this fellow is and why he’s after Rose.” Fitz tossed back the rest of his drink and stood. “Camellia said that she winged the fellow. So I suggest that while we still have enough light to see, you and I go back to the area where he fled and look for a trail of blood.”

  A feral smile touched Royce’s lips, and he too set aside his drink. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 20

  The footmen were bringing up the trunks by the time the women reached Lily’s room, and Mary and her sisters went straight to pulling out the marvelous goods within, while Vivian and Charlotte looked on with indulgent smiles. The girls began to spread the clothes out over the bed, then all other available spaces as well.

  “Cousin Charlotte! These cannot all be ours!” Mary exclaimed.

  “Of course they are,” Charlotte answered with a smile. “There are four of you, after all, and you must have day dresses and evening dresses. Riding habits—Royce told me to include those. Except for the riding habits, it’s what you chose in London, the bare minimum, I assure you. For your come-outs, you must have a great deal more.”

  “I cannot imagine how.” Mary looked around at the frocks scattered all over the room.

  “It looks like so much more here than in the drawings,” Rose agreed softly. Not only were there dresses in varying degrees of elegance, but there were also slippers, nightgowns, cloaks, pelisses, and underclothes of the softest cotton and lawn.

  “Jewelry?” Rose exclaimed, opening a small box and turning toward Charlotte, astonished. “You bought us jewelry?”

  “Just a few pins and earbobs and such,” Vivian assured them. “You must have some, after all.”

  Charlotte looked around at the Bascombes. “Do you not like them?”

  “Of course we like them!” Mary replied.

  “We love them!” Lily corrected, bouncing over to hug her cousin, then Vivian. “You are wonderful to do so much for us.”

  “We can scarcely have you going about looking like ragamuffins, can we?” Charlotte grinned. “It would, after all, reflect badly on the family.”

  “Then I suppose it is our duty to look as elegant as we can.” Mary smiled.

  Vivian pushed aside some of the clothes on the end of the bed and perched on it. “Now, you have to try them on so Charlotte and I can see how glorious you look.”

  It did not take any persuasion to convince the girls. Mary went straight to one of the evening dresses she had chosen. The narrow white silk gown was slightly lower in the waist, as was the new fashion, so that it hinted at the slenderness of the body beneath it. The neckline was lower than on any dress Mary had ever owned, exposing the tops of her white breasts—and her bare shoulders as well, for the short puffed sleeves started on her upper arms just below the points of her shoulders. The overskirt, trimmed around the bottom by a single ruffle of blond lace, was draped and held in place with satin rosettes of the same subtle honey color, exposing the pale golden and white-striped underskirt below.

  Mary knew that it was sheer vanity, but she could not help turning this way and that in front of the mirror. This, she thought, was what she would wear downstairs this evening to supper. Let Royce see her in this!

  “You must wear that tonight.” Vivian echoed Mary’s thoughts. “With a gold ribbon wound through your curls. And, I think, this cameo.”

  She held up a gold chain from which hung a white cameo against a brown background. Mary let Vivian clasp the necklace around her neck, and her eyes glowed as she gazed at her reflection.

  “Perfect,” Charlotte agreed.

  Mary tried on several more, including a dimity round dress with a pale blue pelisse that matched the tiny pattern of the fabric, not to mention another evening dress in white and soft pink. She could not find any that didn’t make her lips curve up into a smile, but the white and champagne evening gown remained her favorite. Prue, the upstairs maid who took care of Mary’s clothes, had been trying to arrange her hair as well, ever since they’d arrived. Tonight, Mary thought, she was going to let Prue do it.

  As the girls worked their way through the clothes, Vivian and Charlotte returned to the subject of the girls’ confrontation this afternoon.

  “Were you terribly frightened when he ran at you like that?” Charlotte asked. “I should have been terrified.”

  “It was scary,” Rose admitted. “But then, I am always the biggest coward. I’m sure Camellia was not.”

  “No, he was frightening,” Camellia admitted. “He was very big. And I hadn’t expected him to appear.”

  Mary nodded. “I didn’t think we would ever see him again.” />
  “That’s why it took me so long to get the gun out of my pocket,” Camellia went on. “By then he had Rose, and I couldn’t get a clear shot.”

  “It’s wonderful that you can shoot,” Vivian told her. “Would you teach me?”

  Camellia looked at her, surprised. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. It seems a much more useful skill than most I possess.”

  “I am sure Miss Dalrymple would not say so,” Lily put in. “No doubt you can play the piano and sing and paint. I bet you even know French.”

  “Enough to buy a dress in Paris,” Vivian answered with a laugh. “Or converse with the cook. But I can tell you that if you were ever stopped by a highwayman, he would not be overcome by a song or a phrase in French.”

  “Have you ever been stopped by a highwayman?” Lily asked, her eyes round—as much, Mary suspected, with envy as with horror.

  “No,” Vivian admitted. “But if I were, I’d rather pull out a pistol than my purse.”

  Finally, as the fashion parade slowed, Vivian sighed and said, “I am sorry not to see the others’ reactions when you come downstairs tonight, but I should be going.”

  “But you must stay for dinner, surely,” Charlotte protested.

  Vivian smiled. “I fear it would be most unkind, even for me, to roll up to Halstead House this evening after everyone has gone to bed. Fear not, I will return often to visit. Constant companionship would not suit Lady Sabrina or me.”

  “Does she not like Lady Sabrina?” Lily asked Charlotte after Vivian had gone.

  Charlotte turned to her, somewhat surprised. She hesitated, then said carefully, “Lady Vivian and Lady Sabrina are, um, rather different in character.”

  “Lady Sabrina said that they used to be great friends.”

  Their cousin shrugged. “Yes, they did. Many years ago.”

  “I don’t much like Lady Sabrina,” Camellia announced.

  “What?” Her sisters swung around to stare at her.

  “Since when do you not like her?” Lily asked.