The Scoundrel's Daughter

by Anne Gracie

  “How do you know you will?”

  “Because I always have been. My education is scrappy—I attended five different schools and never finished the year at any of them. I never did learn all the ladylike skills, and when people look down on me and try to make me feel small and inferior, well, I have a temper. I push back. And not always in a ladylike way.”

  He raised an ironic brow. “And yet, from what I heard, you handled my mother brilliantly. And in a superbly ladylike manner.”

  “Oh.” A blush rose to her cheek. “You heard about that?”

  “I did. And in the diplomatic service, brains, charm and the ability to think on your feet are just as important as society connections—maybe even more important.”

  She pulled a skeptical face. “Which is why most diplomats are titled.”

  “If you married me, you’d be titled, too. Now, let us continue this discussion after we reach Grandmama’s. She’s expecting us, and if we don’t arrive before dark, she’ll worry.”

  Frowning, she twisted the grass stalk into a knot, then tossed it away. “All right, I’ll go to your grandmother’s. But I warn you, I’m going to tell her everything.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Alice’s idyll was over: it was time to go home. They’d spent four days in the little cottage, eating, talking and making love. Alice had never passed such a blissful time in her life. Truth be told, she never wanted to leave.

  It was difficult being a mistress, she thought as she packed. Glorious, but also tough on the emotions. Once they were back in their normal lives, it would all be different. They’d have to be discreet. They couldn’t see each other whenever they wanted. They wouldn’t wake up together, wouldn’t make love in the middle of the night and again in the morning. Wouldn’t eat breakfast together—in bed—in such a delightfully decadent fashion as they had. No more evening strolls in the twilight, coming home to a cozy fire, a simple dinner and a glass of wine. And bed.

  She’d learned so much about her body—and his—in the last four days. She was saturated with pleasure—more than pleasure. The last few days had given her a new understanding of herself. And not just in bed—though that had been glorious, and eye-opening.

  When the weather had allowed, they’d gone for long walks. And in bed or out of it, they’d talked and talked and talked—of everything: stories of their past, thoughts about the world, even favorite books, because James was a reader. Alice couldn’t have imagined a more perfect time. But now it was over.

  “This has been the happiest four days—and nights—of my life,” she told James as they waited for the carriage to collect them.

  “I’m glad.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, a long, passionate kiss.

  “Can we do it again sometime?” The chaise arrived as she spoke.

  “What? Come here, do you mean? Why not? I paid the rent for a couple of months.” He grinned down at her and opened the front door. “It can be our secret getaway place.”

  They traveled back to London in relative silence. Alice, with James’s arm wrapped around her, felt a little blue. James appeared to be lost in thought. It hardly seemed to take any time at all before they were pulling up outside Bellaire Gardens.

  Too public a place for one last kiss, so James simply pulled out her valise and handed it to Tweed, then said a polite goodbye—his eyes said more—and left.

  “How is your friend, m’lady?” Tweed asked.

  Alice blinked and then remembered. “All better now, thank you.”

  She pulled herself together and walked up the stairs. James had made no attempt to speak of marriage again. Not this time, not anymore. She was his mistress now, and mistresses didn’t get asked to be married.

  Ironic that now she was ready to take the plunge, he’d changed his mind.

  It was her own fault. Had she had more courage, she might have had it all: marriage to James and the glory of going to bed with him. But she’d chosen to become his mistress instead, and now she had to live with her choice. And she would, according to her new principle to live by: no regrets.

  She’d had four glorious days and nights in James’s arms. And she didn’t regret them in the least.

  * * *

  * * *

  Gerald’s grandmother, Lady Stornaway, was a bit of a surprise. She’d obviously been a beauty in her day, and was still very good-looking in a plump-old-lady way. Her silver hair was swept up in a stylish arrangement, and she was simply but fashionably dressed.

  She welcomed them warmly and, once they’d refreshed themselves after the journey, settled them down in a comfortable, elegantly appointed sitting room with sherry and biscuits.

  “Congratulations on your betrothal, dear boy,” she said to Gerald. “I suppose Almeria is delighted.”

  “Not exactly,” he admitted.

  “Not at all,” Lucy said.

  The old lady turned to Lucy with a faint frown. “My daughter doesn’t approve of you?”

  Lucy grimaced. “Your daughter despises me.”

  Lady Stornaway brightened. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. And also, Gerald and I are not betrothed, not really,” Lucy said, making a clean breast of it.

  “We are betrothed,” Gerald insisted. “And it’s still official as far as society is concerned.”

  Lady Stornaway gave them a shrewd look. “Quarreled, have you?”

  “No,” Lucy said. “It was never a proper betrothal in the first place. It was a . . . a stratagem. And I didn’t want to lie to you about it.”

  The old lady sipped her sherry. “Fascinating. Tell me more.”

  So Lucy explained. She didn’t leave anything out, not her lack of family, her irregular upbringing, her many schools and her time as pupil/maidservant to Frau Steiner and the comtesse. From time to time, Gerald interrupted to add something, but for the most part he let her tell her own story.

  She’d just reached the part about her father’s blackmail of Alice and her consequent entry into the ton, when the butler announced dinner. With the old lady’s encouragement, she related that little episode over the soup.

  “And you say my daughter dislikes you,” Lady Stornaway said when Lucy had finished.

  Lucy nodded. She didn’t like to stress how much.

  “Most edifying,” the old lady said. She turned to her grandson, “Now, Gerald, you mentioned in your letter that you had decided to enter the diplomatic corps. How is that going?”

  While Gerald explained, Lucy ate her dinner. She was rather taken aback. The old lady had barely reacted to Lucy’s confession and had simply moved on to the next topic of conversation as if it were perfectly normal to hear about blackmail and deception.

  Bemused, Lucy caught Gerald’s eye and raised her brows in a silent question. He simply shrugged and went on telling his grandmother about his plans for his future career. And then he filled her in on the news of various acquaintances she had in London.

  And at the end of the meal, the old lady rose from the table and said, “A most interesting meal, thank you. Now, I expect you’re very tired after your long journey. We keep early hours here, so I’ll bid you both good night.”

  She left. Lucy looked at Gerald, totally bewildered. “I don’t understand. She didn’t even react.”

  Gerald shrugged. “No one can ever tell what Grandmama is thinking. Just go to bed and try to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Which was no help at all.

  * * *

  * * *

  The following morning after breakfast, Lady Stornaway invited Lucy to go for a drive around the estate. Just Lucy, she said. Gerald could entertain himself.

  Lucy swallowed her misgivings and fetched her shawl.

  They set out in a smart little tilbury. Lady Stornaway drove. There was no groom. It was clear the old lady wanted a private conversation with Lucy
. Despite breakfast, Lucy’s stomach felt hollow. Lady Stornaway was, after all, Almeria’s mother.

  For the first twenty minutes, the old lady simply pointed out local sights. Lucy’s tension mounted. What was the purpose of this drive?

  Finally, they drew up outside an old cottage with a thatched roof and a crooked chimney. It was small and neat but not particularly prepossessing. They contemplated it for a few minutes. Were they going to visit someone? Children and hens ran about in the yard, and when the children saw Lady Stornaway, they ran eagerly toward the carriage, calling out greetings.

  Lady Stornaway smiled and produced a bag of sweets, but apart from exhorting the recipient to share them out fairly, she made no move to get down. And no adult came out to greet her.

  “I expect you’re wondering what we’re doing here?” Lady Stornaway said after a while. Lucy couldn’t deny it.

  “I was born in that cottage.”

  Lucy turned to her, shocked. “You were?”

  The old lady nodded. “I have no connection with the tenants now, except as lady of the manor, but when I was a gel, Papa was a tenant farmer. Not a particularly good one.”

  “But . . .”

  “How did I end up a lady?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “I married Gerald’s grandfather.” She smiled. “There was a terrible fuss at the time, but we didn’t care—we were in love. Albert got a special license, and we went off and got married without anyone being the wiser. Then he took me to London, to a top modiste, and had me dressed from the skin out. That’s your first lesson, my gel, and I can see you’ve already learned it. It’s hard for people to put you down when you’re better dressed than they are. And with the right clothes, you feel up to anything.”

  Lucy agreed. Wearing Miss Chance’s dresses, she felt quite different from the girl who’d arrived in London in that horrid frilly pink dress.

  “So now you know where I came from.” She glanced at Lucy and chuckled. “That’s why my daughter Almeria is so frightfully toplofty—living me down, you see. Or imagining she is. Really, nobody worth anything gives tuppence about my background. Oh, some might whisper about it behind my back, but how does that hurt me? It’s who you are and what you do and say that’s important, not where you come from. Are you listening to me, gel?”

  “Of course I am.” Lucy’s brain was whirling.

  “So you need not have any qualms about marrying my grandson.” Lady Stornaway snapped the reins and the tilbury moved on. “If you’re young and in love, you should marry.”

  “But Gerald and I are not in love.”

  The old lady gave her a sardonic glance. “Pish-tush! You told me you weren’t going to lie to me.”

  Lucy blushed.

  “You care for my grandson, don’t you?”

  Lucy hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing. Now, you listen to me, my gel—you don’t get many chances for happiness in this life, and when you get one, you need to seize it and hang on to it.”

  “But what about—”

  “Seize it and make it work. Be the woman you want to be and take no nonsense from anyone.” She eyed Lucy shrewdly. “You don’t want people to look down on you, and I appreciate that, but you’re also thinking of Gerald, aren’t you?”

  Lucy nodded. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass him.”

  “Then don’t. He’s chosen you out of all the silly high-born widgeons who’ve been setting their caps at him for the last couple of years. Gerald takes after his grandfather, my Albert—he knows what he wants.”

  Conversation paused as they negotiated a shallow ford, then she continued, “If Gerald is the man you want, then take him and make it work. But be the woman you are, not the woman you imagine he ought to want. That’s the quickest way to drive a wedge between you. Be honest with each other, and for God’s sake, talk things over.”

  A flock of sheep surged down the road toward them, and the carriage stopped as the sheep flowed around it. The shepherd tugged his forelock to Lady Stornaway and nodded at Lucy.

  “And forget about separate bedrooms,” the old lady said when the baaing of the sheep had become sufficiently distant. “Bed is where you and your husband will do the best talking, before or after you make love.” She darted a glance at Lucy. “Shocked you, have I?”

  Lucy laughed. “A bit.”

  “Good. I like to shock people every now and then. Stops people taking me for granted. You should think about doing that, too. It’s also enormous fun.”

  Lucy laughed again.

  A few minutes later Lady Stornaway said thoughtfully, “And you know, your father—scoundrel as he undoubtedly is—didn’t give you such a bad start in life.”

  Lucy turned to her in surprise, but the old lady continued, “He put you in good schools, even if only for a limited time, and there are worse assets a diplomat’s wife can have than fluency in two major European languages. Not to mention an ability to adjust to new situations. And giving you to Alice Paton to launch was a stroke of genius, even though his methods were wicked.”

  Lucy frowned. She had never considered Papa’s actions in that light, but now that she thought about it, there was something in what Lady Stornaway said.

  They reached Stornaway Manor, and the old lady handed over the reins to a groom. “I enjoyed our little chat, Miss Bamber, and I hope you’ll think about what I said.”

  Gerald came out to greet them and helped his grandmother down. “This gel,” she said to him, “if you let her get away, you’re not the man I hope you are.”

  He grinned. “Grandmama, I will do my best not to disappoint you.”

  Lucy didn’t know where to look.

  * * *

  * * *

  Gerald took Lucy straight into the small sitting room. “See, my grandmother knows everything, and she still approves of you. So can we agree that the betrothal stands? And when we get back to London, we can start to make arrangements for the wedding.” He reached for her, but she pushed his hands away.

  “Are you sure, Gerald, because I need you to be very sure.”

  “Sure of what? That I’ll make you happy? All I can promise is that I’ll try my very best.” His eyes darkened. “Am I sure that I love you? Oh, yes, I’m very, very sure of that.”

  Lucy’s heart missed a beat and then started to thump in a rapid tattoo. Stunned, she stared at Gerald. “You love me?”

  “Of course I love you, you goose. Haven’t I made it obvious?”

  “Don’t call me a goose!” She was breathless, shocked, poised between tears and laughter.

  “But you lovvve geese. And so do I, ever since we were introduced by a goose called Ghislaine.” He reached for her again, but she stepped away.

  “Stop it. Be serious and think about how it would be. There is so much I don’t know about how high society works. I’m never sure about precedence, for instance—”

  “You can learn.”

  “Or how to address a duke or a marquess—”

  “You’ll pick it up. You’re very clever.”

  “Then there’s all that cutlery at those big formal dinners.”

  “Work from the outside in.”

  “See? You know all that stuff without even thinking, because you were born to it. I wasn’t.

  He caught her hands in his. “None of that stuff—none of it—matters. I love you and I want to marry you. There is only one reason I will accept that you can’t marry me.”

  Her insides tightened. “And what’s that?”

  “That you don’t love me.”

  There was a long pause. She eyed him from under lowered lashes, then made a frustrated sound. There was a limit to self-sacrifice. “Oh, very well, but if—when—I mess up and embarrass you, and make terrible mistakes and inadvertently insult important people, or unimportant ones, you must never
reproach me or blame me or yell at me. Because I won’t allow it, do you hear? If you take me, you take me warts and all.”

  He grinned. “That’s my girl.”

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “I heard every word.” His smile widened. “And I understood you, too. You love me.”

  How did he know? “I didn’t say that.”

  “Of course you did.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her, and giving up all thoughts of directing him to a better match, she kissed him back with all the pent-up love in her heart.

  “Now,” he murmured after a while. Somehow they’d moved to the sofa. “Where are these warts you mentioned?”

  She shoved him lightly on the arm. “I don’t have any warts, you fool.”

  “Oh well, nobody’s perfect.” He gave her one more long, luscious kiss, then hearing footsteps outside in the hall, he sat up with a sigh. “We’d better save things for the wedding night.”

  “Then we’d better make the wedding soon.”

  He laughed and hugged her again. “A wench after my own heart. The banns will be called for the third time this Sunday. We can wed anytime after that—or sooner if you like, with a special license.”

  “As long as Alice is there, I don’t mind.”

  “And Grandmama. She will want to attend, if only to watch my mother gnashing her teeth.”

  She laughed. “And I’d like a new dress.” Something she hadn’t worn before.

  “Naturally. And a trousseau, I suppose.” He sighed. “I can see the date stretching further into the future.”

  “No, the clothes don’t matter. Only the people.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him again. “I do love you, Gerald.”

  “I know.”

  * * *

  * * *

  When they arrived back in Bellaire Gardens, Alice took one look at them and hugged first Lucy, then Gerald. “I’m so pleased. You two are finally smelling of April and May. You’ve sorted things out, haven’t you?”