by Jo Beverley
“Are you ascribing base motives to me, my love?”
She grinned. “Just practical ones.” She looked at Laura. “I know David quite well now, and he can be trusted. Because of his responsibilities he cannot always act legally, but he will always act honorably. Once he understands this situation, I’m sure he will feel about it just as you do, and he’s perfectly placed to rescue HG and deal with trouble.”
Laura felt a strange pang of disappointment, as if a daring adventure had been snatched from her, and she understood Stephen’s mood. How silly. Safety and a quick resolution were what they needed.
“Then I agree. How will it be managed?”
“I’ll send a discreet note,” Nicholas said, “asking him to contact you at the Compass.”
The sonorous clock struck one.
Laura pushed back slightly from the table, ashamed of how little she’d eaten, but eager to be off. “We’ve done all we can here, I think.”
She realized that it sounded rude, but with talk of armed gangs and smugglers, she couldn’t linger. Not when there was a child at risk.
Everyone stood, but Stephen said, “There is one thing. We can’t risk Laura’s reputation. If she were to meet anyone she knows, it would be disastrous. I was hoping for a disguise.”
Nicholas turned to eye her. “As what?”
“An older, sickly cousin.”
Humor sparked in Nicholas’s eyes. “A pity to cloud such beauty, but I think it can be done.”
Chapter 19
Not long afterward, Laura looked in the mirror, still disconcerted by her appearance. She knew she’d need something, but she hadn’t imagined a change as thorough as this.
Nicholas had produced a faded blond wig as if it were the kind of thing every house contained. The wiry curls bubbled excessively around her face, which was rendered sallow with a tinted cream. A darker cream around her eyes made her look dismally unwell. As the coup de grace, a large mole now squatted on the edge of her upper lip. She’d heard such marks called “beauty spots” but there was nothing beautiful about this one. There were even a few hairs sticking out of it.
She’d lived with her beauty for so long that it was unsettling to have it gone. She could tell, however, that anyone meeting her would see only mousy curls, ill health, and mole.
She’d thought her mourning clothes dull enough, but Nicholas had decreed they were too stylish. She and Eleanor were stripping off some trimming, but Laura thought half the work had already been done when she’d abandoned her corset.
They’d realized that she couldn’t use a maid to help her undress, because there was no way to make her body fit her face and hair. Eleanor had lent her a kind of bodice that hooked up the front. It was decent, Laura supposed, but didn’t raise and support the breasts as she was used to.
A glance at her hostess suggested she was wearing such a garment herself. Comfortable, Laura granted, but . . . well, it was a good thing Eleanor’s dress made no attempt at fashion.
All in the cause, she told herself, and sat to rip off a belt of ruched gray silk. “It’s as well I’ll soon be out of mourning. I’ll be able to give these to my maid, except that I doubt she’ll want them.”
“They’ll bring her a little in the secondhand shops.” Eleanor was unpicking a white lace ruffle from around a neckline. She glanced up with a twinkle in her eye. “So wickedly frivolous, ruffles.”
“And I thought I’d been dressing so plainly.”
“You’re used to high fashion. I was green with envy of the gown you wore at the Arden wedding. Low in the back with crisscross ribbons. Rubies, and red feathers swirling through your hair.”
Laura was surprised to feel embarrassed. “I don’t remember meeting you, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, you didn’t. But you were one of the bright lights. I haven’t offered my condolences on your husband’s death, have I? It must be especially hard when a husband is taken so young and suddenly.”
“Yes,” Laura said, unwilling to even look at her increasingly muddled feelings about Hal. “Do you visit London often?” she asked, to steer talk to safer channels.
Stephen had been left alone for a while. Nicholas had decreed that he must not witness the transformation so that he could give an honest first impression.
Time to think.
Time to doubt.
Looking out at the plain but pleasant garden, he tried to decide whether his recent actions had been heroic or villainous. They certainly hadn’t been wise—or unavoidable. There were other ways of dealing with this mystery. He had framed this plan to get Laura to Draycombe, to create time together and alone. Perhaps even to compromise her.
He wasn’t consciously planning that, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that if they were caught, if the world discovered them together at Draycombe, they would have little choice but to wed. The damnable thing was, as a man, he wouldn’t suffer much from the scandal, but her reputation would be smirched forever.
When Nicholas came in, Stephen wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He turned from the view. “Beauty transformed?”
“Excellently. It’s an insubstantial quality, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so.”
Nicholas smiled. “Nor do I. But we’re speaking of deeper beauty, I assume. A saber through the face has ruined many a man’s beauty. Laura and Eleanor are attacking her clothes.”
Nicholas sat, so Stephen did, too. “They’re devilish dull as they are.”
“But far too stylish for Mrs. Priscilla Penfold. Mrs. Hal Gardeyne has always had an unerring instinct for style.”
“I didn’t know you knew her.”
“I don’t, but we do visit London. I was there extensively in 1814, if you remember.”
“I could hardly forget.” That was the year Nicholas had played a dangerous game of counterespionage, married Eleanor, and almost died. “But Laura wasn’t there as often after her child was born.”
“One only has to see Olympus once. She’s a rare specimen. I assume you wish to collect her?”
Stephen reacted to the hint of disapproval. “I’m helping an old friend.” When Nicholas raised his eyebrows, he said, “Devil take you. Very well. I want her, but I don’t like the word collect.”
“Nor do I, but I think it’s what women like that stir in some men. A desire to own, to bask in reflected glory. No, not even that, alas, but to bask in pride of possession. Hal Gardeyne was like that. Puffed up like a cock to own her.”
Stephen found himself driven to defend the man. “What’s the difference between that and being an adoring husband?”
Nicholas thought. “What is valued, I suppose. What did Gardeyne truly value?”
“His hunters.”
Nicholas nodded. “In the end our true love will rule. His was sport. They were destined to drift apart. A man with a passionate avocation should be careful where he weds.”
Stephen tensed. “You refer to me?”
“I would claim it to be a universal truth, but yes. If you are not passionately devoted to the political life and noble causes, you’ve been doing a remarkable imitation of it.”
“I should give up my life upon marriage, as you have given up yours?” Stephen flinched at the sharpness of his own attack, but didn’t retract it.
“I’ve given up nothing. Once I traveled, but I’d already wearied of it when circumstances brought me home. You can hardly think that London enthralled me.”
Stephen was suddenly angry at being advised. “You and Eleanor are not markedly alike.”
“Lock and key don’t have to be identical. In fact, it would defeat the purpose. I’m a mental magpie. She’s interested in some of the treasures I bring to the nest. She’s a practical countrywoman, and I’m learning the joys of being in one place. She is restful, which I find a blessing. She enjoys being excited now and then. We can be as silent as a starlit night and blessed by it.”
“You’re saying I should not marry a woman who is interested in politics and reform?�
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“Steve! You’re a cleverer man than I am, so don’t sink to that level. You should marry a woman who will bring joy to your life in many ways, because if she’s of value to you in only one way, what when that changes? What if Laura’s beauty is ravaged by smallpox?”
“She’s been inoculated.” Stephen recognized that as irrelevant, however. “I don’t know.”
“Find out. And be sure that you can give joy to her, and without sacrifice. Sacrifice is a galling burden.”
“How very unchristian.”
“I didn’t say it isn’t good for us to be galled sometimes.”
Stephen rose and walked to the window, trying to sort through what Nicholas had said. Did he simply want to possess Laura’s beauty, as if she were a vase or a painting?
“Do you know her?” Nicholas asked.
He turned to stare. “She was my sister’s closest friend. We were almost like brother and sister.”
“Are you the man you were six years ago? If not, why assume she is that woman? My advice . . . Damnation, I took a vow to stop giving advice.”
“As well tell Coleridge to give up opium.”
It was a sharp enough cut to draw blood, but Nicholas merely smiled. “I would if I thought it would do any good. He’s too far gone, poor man.”
“And Dare is not?” Stephen asked, to change the subject.
“No. He was never dependent on it for escape, you see.” But Nicholas wasn’t deflected. “I’ve wondered what was amiss with you. I think I know now, but old passions can prove poisonous when stirred. My advice is to try to forget the past and to discover Laura as if you were meeting her now. Perhaps her new appearance will help. I think I hear them coming.”
They went into the hall, and Stephen was glad to have that encounter over, even if he felt he carried it with him like splinters buried in his skin.
He didn’t know Laura?
Once prompted, he recognized truth.
Vibrant Laura Watcombe. Brilliant Mrs. Hal Gardeyne. Labellelle, toast of society. Even Lady Skylark, which he knew now hadn’t been fitting even five years ago. . . .
He looked up the stairs and saw a sallow, sickly woman.
The dress was the same, he thought, though it had somehow become frumpy. Beneath the plain black bonnet, a close cap was tied beneath her chin by ribbons as narrow as string. It hid all of a faded blond wig except for a frame of tight curls that created the impression of a low forehead. A disfiguring mole ruined her lovely mouth. She was even wearing beige net gloves to hide her elegant hands.
The whole effect was sealed by a remarkably ugly shawl in yellows and browns that managed to clash even with the gray spencer.
“Where do you find these things?” he said to Nicholas.
“Oh, Nicholas collects like a magpie,” Eleanor remarked as she and Laura arrived in the hall.
Stephen flicked a glance at his friend, but Nicholas merely said, “It is the virtue of the magpie to be undiscriminating.”
“Virtue?” Laura asked, and at least her voice was the same.
Eleanor laughed. “Don’t encourage him to expound on the virtues and dangers of discrimination. He says you never know when his indiscriminate collections will be of use. And as usual, he’s right.”
Stephen was still trying to absorb Laura’s appearance. “That mole . . . What we will do for the cause.”
She stiffened. “Do you think I wouldn’t give up all my looks for this cause? To save two young Henry Gardeynes?” Then she winced. “I’m sorry. I’m on edge.”
“So am I. But it was only a joke, Laura.”
They might have apologized back and forth, but Nicholas interrupted. “Don’t forget to move and speak like a plain woman, Laura. Be uncertain in your speech, and don’t expect people to pay attention to you. Efface yourself. It will be useful anyway if people hardly notice you. Such a light disguise is an illusion rather than a perfect concealment.”
“I’ve never thought of these things before.”
“Do. I’ve sent word to Kerslake, Steve. We’re sticking as close to the truth as possible, so if you need to explain the connection, you’re a friend of a friend. Con’s friend, of course.”
“Right.”
Discover the real Laura. Nicholas was right. He held out his arm. “Come along. It’s a game, an adventure. Don’t I remember a time when you put blue streaks on your face and stuck feathers in your hair in order to be a Red Indian?”
That brought back a smile that was pure Laura. “With a bow and arrow. I shot your hat off.”
“Damn near killed me. Thank heavens you’re not armed now.”
“Ah,” she said as they left the house. “Did I forget to mention my pistol?”
He looked at her, about to object, but remembered Nicholas’s advice. Learn about her now. “Can I assume Mrs. Hal Gardeyne knows how to use it?”
“Of course you can.”
As he handed her into the curricle, Stephen reckoned he deserved a medal for self-control. Speaking the man’s name had almost choked him.
Chapter 20
Laura thought her cheerful manner deserved a medal.
She looked awful, but she’d hoped that in some way Stephen would be able to ignore it. Clearly not, but the pain of that had made it dawn on her—literally, like the crack of dawn opening in the dark sky—that she was attracted to him.
Perhaps just physically.
Perhaps not.
Whatever her feelings were, they demanded that he look at her with appreciation and admiration.
This made her newly unsure about this enterprise. She didn’t understand her own emotions, and she didn’t have time to ponder them, but she knew they made this journey doubly, triply hazardous. Yet she must go, not just to uncover the truth and possibly rescue a child, but to explore these mysteries. Her life teetered on a balance point, and the issues at hand extended beyond the future of the viscountcy of Caldfort.
They were using Nicholas’s curricle, which made transport to Draycombe simple. As Laura and Stephen drove away, they waved back at the three Delaneys. Little Arabel had reappeared and was again in her father’s arms.
“He’s a devoted father,” Laura remarked.
“Yes.”
“Unusually so.”
They swung into the road at speed, showing impressive skill. “You disapprove?” he asked.
Her thoughts had shown and she grimaced. “I’m sorry, but having recently forced myself not to cling to Harry, I’m sensitive to such things. It can’t be wise to encourage a child to cling like that, particularly to a father.”
“Do you really find a devoted father so unusual?”
She almost said a blunt yes, but then considered the question. “Hal certainly wasn’t, but he might have become so when Harry was of an age to share his interests. I suppose Ned dotes, but he leaves most of the care of the little ones to Margaret, particularly the girls. It’s the usual way.”
He negotiated another bend and then they were on a straight stretch and he could give the horses their heads. “Nicholas is unusual in nearly everything he does, but there’s a special reason. I don’t think they’ll mind me telling you. Arabel was kidnapped not long ago.”
Shock hit like a fist. “No! How?”
“By a woman who hated Nicholas and wanted money. It’s left Arabel shy and anxious when she used to be the most cheerful, trusting child. Ah, I should have realized.”
“What?”
He glanced at her. “She’s particularly wary of strange women in dark clothing. That must be why she shrank from you. As for her clinging to Nicholas, he was the one to rescue her. Unfair to Eleanor, of course, but a child’s view of the world is simple.”
As Harry’s was. Coaches meant change, so having arrived at a place he liked, he refused to get in one again. Harry was safe, but Laura had to ask, “How was she taken?” What had she forgotten to guard against? What might lure him into danger? “Tempted away by a stranger offering a treat?”
“Sh
e was snatched from her bed.”
“In her own home?”
Stephen halted his horses and turned to her. “Laura, what is it? She was rescued.”
“Harry!” She clutched his arm. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this, Stephen. Turn around. You must go to Draycombe to rescue this other child, but I have to get back to Merrymead. I never thought to warn anyone about that. About him being taken from his bed . . .”
He freed his sleeve from her hands and gripped them. “Laura, this was nothing like Harry’s situation. Arabel was held for ransom. If Jack Gardeyne tries to harm Harry, he has to make it look like an accident. How could a child being stolen from his bed be that?”
“Sleepwalking?”
He shook his head. “At Merrymead, and no one will notice?”
“That’s true. Mothers have an extra sense for children stirring in the night.”
“And remember, Gardeyne isn’t a lunatic. He has to know there’ll be better opportunities.”
“He tried with that bun. If I didn’t imagine that.”
“Perhaps he panicked when he heard you were going away for a month. I doubt he’ll do that again.”
Laura began to settle, aware of great comfort from Stephen’s hands around hers, from his steady eyes.
He smiled slightly, which eased her heart even more. “And he’ll not have a chance to harm Harry with Juliet on guard.”
“That sounds as if you admire her more than me.”
The smile deepened. “Don’t be a goose.”
She found herself laughing. “Honk?”
“In my experience, they hiss and then attack. Nasty creatures, geese.”
“But they end up on our dinner tables. Perhaps they have reason for anger.”
“Perhaps they do, at that. All right now?”
She nodded and slipped her hands free. “I’m sorry for panicking, but the poor Delaneys. I feel for them.”
“As do I. Especially as I wasn’t around to help or even support.” He put the horses into motion again.
She could use that as an opening to ask about his grievance with the Rogues, to discuss the allure of adventure and the wisdom of avoiding it, but she was wound too tight for a serious topic.