Alyssa retreated into the chamber that had been assigned to her and sank in desolation upon the bed. She had only herself to blame for her predicament. If only she had told Carlyle the truth in the beginning, instead of encouraging him to think the worst of her. How well she had succeeded! His contempt for her cut her to the soul. “You were right yesterday when you told me that I had wronged you. Indeed, I had! For believing that there was any decency or truth in that lovely, perfidious body of yours.” Even more painful to Alyssa was the realisation that his contempt had been as strong for himself as for her. “I was fool enough to believe the lies that you so convincingly told me yesterday. How you must have laughed at me for being such a flat. I never thought that I would ever again permit myself to be deceived by a conniving petticoat, but you very nearly succeeded.”
Nothing she could do or say now would shake his conviction that she had been eloping to Gretna Green with his son. “I will never believe another word from those beautiful lips!” He would not believe the truth until he heard it from Jeremy. But it would be days before the youth returned from the border.
Meanwhile, she would be a prisoner at Beauchamp, and it would be intolerable if he spent the time ripping at her. Alyssa longed for him to kiss her, not condemn her. Tears flooded her eyes, and despair clawed at her soul as she realised that Carlyle held not only her, but her heart, captive.
Suddenly she was determined that no matter how provoking he was to her, she would be a model guest, pleasant, agreeable, entertaining. She would try to make him appreciate, even before Jeremy’s arrival, how wrong he was in his assessment of her character. Although she was his prisoner, she would be a charming one.
With this determination firmly fixed, she appeared at breakfast the following morning promptly at the appointed hour.
Chapter 18
Carlyle, who prized punctuality, had entered the breakfast-parlour only a moment before Alyssa and looked up in surprise from the sideboard at her prompt entrance. Although she had seemed to accept her abduction with unusual equanimity the previous night, he attributed this to shock and could not suppose that such behaviour would last. He was braced for an arsenal of female weapons that he abhorred, including pleas, tears, recriminations, threats and shrewish tantrums. When she had exhausted these, they would get down to hard bargaining.
But, to his surprise, she employed none of those tactics. Instead, after filling her plate from the sideboard, she sat down at the table across from him and discussed a variety of impersonal subjects, never once mentioning either Jeremy or her own situation. She acted as though nothing was in the least out of the ordinary about her visit to Beauchamp.
And she was, Carlyle had to admit, as delightful a guest, male or female, as he had ever entertained. She offered him none of the insipid chatter that too many women bored him with. Instead she was surprisingly well informed and well read. Her observations were astute and spiced with humour. When she disagreed with him, her arguments were well reasoned and provocative. So engrossed did he become in their conversation that he remained at the table long after he had finished eating.
When at last he rose, he found himself reluctant to abandon her company. Knowing how much she enjoyed riding, he invited her to do so with him, and she readily accepted.
When the duke told the groom to saddle Roan Fire for Alyssa, the servant’s eyes popped, and he protested, “Your Grace cannot be serious. M’lady could not possibly...”
“His Grace is very serious,” Carlyle interjected, and the groom went reluctantly off to do his bidding.
“He does not approve of your choice. Do you mean for me to break my neck as a way to be rid of me?” Alyssa teased.
But he answered her seriously. “I would not have ordered a mount that I was not certain that you could handle with ease. Roan Fire is spirited, but you will have no difficulty with him.”
Nor did she as she and Carlyle rode over the vast and lovely land that was Beauchamp. Her appreciation of its beauty was so apparent and so clearly sincere that he found himself giving her a more extensive tour that he had planned, even showing her his own favourite spot, a hilltop shaded by a single plane tree that offered a splendid view of the elegant classical façade of Beauchamp’s south face, its vast gardens and the River Kennet, flowing at the foot of the slope on which the house had been built. It was where, in those darkest days of his life, he had brought his then infant son, seeking solace for a broken heart.
“How lovely,” Alyssa cried when she saw it. “If I lived here, I would come here all the time.”
I do,” he confessed, unaccountably pleased by her appreciation of it.
“How can you bear to live in London, when you are surrounded by so much beauty here?” she asked dreamily.
His head swivelled toward her in surprise, and he saw that her eyes were shining in delight at the vista before her. “I spend most of my time at Beauchamp,” he confessed. “But I dare say you would find it exceedingly dull here after the excitement of London.” His tone was suddenly harsh. “Or Venice or Paris or Vienna.”
Alyssa seemed to radiate dignity. “I do not like cities,” she said quietly. “They are interesting to visit for a brief time, I grant you, but I much prefer the country. What I find dullest, Your Grace, is endless parties filled with boring, empty chatter and backbiting that passes for conversation among those who lead empty lives.”
She urged Roan Fire forward, leaving a startled Carlyle staring after her. When they returned to the house after their ride, he found himself even more loath to part from her.
She asked whether she might borrow a book from his library, and he led her into the big corner room. Long windows, sunlight streaming through them, alternated with recessed bookshelves on the two outside walls. In the corner where these walls met was the duke’s large French writing table of mahogany with bronze mounts. On the inside walls paintings alternated with more recessed shelves, all lined with leather-bound volumes. Comfortable settees and chairs upholstered in turquoise brocade had been grouped about the room.
“What a charming room,” Alyssa exclaimed as they entered. “It is so light and airy, with all those windows and the white walls. How much more pleasant than the dark panelling most libraries have.”
“You see why I spend so much time here,” he said, then startled himself by asking her if she would like to remain in the library to read while he checked over some accounts at his writing table.
For the remainder of that day and the next, Carlyle found Alyssa’s presence so enjoyable that he invented excuses to himself and to her so that he could be with her constantly. Never once did she mention Jeremy or the reasons that had led to her stay at Beauchamp, and Carlyle found himself reluctant to bring them up for fear of destroying the pleasant, precarious peace between them. He preferred scintillating companionship to sullen entreaties or shrewish recriminations. Nor did he make any romantic advances to her, even though he increasingly ached to have her. His indulgence in this regard surprised him. Usually that was his only interest in a woman, but Alyssa was different.
As they lingered over dessert two nights after her arrival at Beauchamp the duke studied her in the candlelight. She was exquisite, with her regal bearing, mischievous eyes, and delightful dimple in the cleft of her chin. Simply dressed in a white muslin gown trimmed about the square neck, waist and hem with wide emerald-green ribbon that matched her eyes, she wore no jewellery. To his astonishment, he found himself wanting to place around her elegant, unadorned neck the Carlyle emeralds which, magnificent as they were, would pale beside the glory of her eyes.
Two days in her company, which he enjoyed more than that of any woman he had ever known, had left him totally bewildered. He had noted with wry amusement that his servants were as perplexed by her as he was. Her deportment, manners and conversation bespoke excellent breeding and education. When he had tried to question her about the latter, she had turned his query aside, saying politely, “Let us avoid discussing the personal, Your Grace. It
will only have us dagger drawing.”
Although she tolerated her situation with the equanimity of an adventuress, she had made no attempt to exploit it. Not once had she threatened or demanded, cajoled or cried. But why not? Studying her across the table through narrowed eyes, he observed, “You have accepted your stay here with amazing grace and good humour.”
She shrugged. “I know that my visit, despite your insistence upon it, is no more welcome to you than it is to me. I see no point of making it even more unpleasant for both of us by indulging in a fit of the sullens or strong hysteria.”
“What infinite good sense you display—occasionally,” he remarked dryly. “But why have you abandoned your attempts to persuade me that I was wrong about the nature of your journey to the border?”
“You told the that it would be a waste of my breath,” she reminded him, “and I am persuaded it would be. You will not believe the truth until you hear it from Jeremy.”
Carlyle studied Alyssa silently, torn by conflicting emotions: hoping on one hand that Jeremy would not come for days so that he could continue to enjoy her company, but on the other, nursing a growing unease about why he had not come. If she had been eloping with Jeremy, the boy’s anger, after reading the note that had been left for him, would focus on her, not on his father. But if she were telling the truth, Jeremy would be furious at him. Trying to shake off his sudden anxiety, the duke asked blandly, “What will you do after Jeremy comes?”
“Accept your apology for so misjudging me and return to London,” she replied coolly.
His jaw dropped in surprise. Suddenly he felt bereft at the thought of Beauchamp without her. Good God, he was more bewitched by her than his son had been! “You need not return to London,” he said hoarsely. “My offer of a carte blanche still stands.”
Her emerald eyes flashed angrily, and Carlyle watched in fascination as she struggled to control her temper and her tongue. When she succeeded, she said in freezing accents, “I prefer your apology.”
His mouth twisted cynically. “But my carte blanche is more lucrative.”
“I would starve in the gutter first!” she cried, her head held at its most regal angle.
“My bed and board will be infinitely more agreeable,” he snapped back.
A sudden, loud commotion in the hail penetrated into the dining-room.
“What the devil is going on out there?” he demanded irritably.
He got his answer a second later when the door burst open, and his sister Hester rushed in. Her worried hazel eyes were so intent on him that she did not notice Alyssa, who was still seated at the table.
“Thank God you came so quickly, Richard,” she cried. “I have never been so excessively worried in my life.”
“What are you talking about?” he demanded in a low, sharp voice. “And why are you back from Bath so soon?”
“Did you not get my letter that we were returning early?”
“No, I did not.”
“But if you did not, why are you here?” Her eyes looked beyond her brother, and for the first time, she noticed Alyssa seated at the table. Her mouth formed a shocked 0, from which no sound emitted for a moment. Then she said stiffly, “I see.”
“I sincerely doubt that you do,” Carlyle said dryly. “Where is Ellen?”
“She is being carried in,” his sister replied, clearly on the verge of tears. “Oh, Richard, she is desperately ill.”
He jumped up from the table in alarm. “Good God, what is wrong with her?”
“I don’t know. It came on her so suddenly when we were only a few miles from here. She has a dreadful fever and chills and, I fear, perhaps congestion in her chest. I am terrified.”
Carlyle ran from the dining-room with his sister at his heels.
Chapter 19
Alyssa followed Carlyle and his sister into a cosy little sitting-room that was as warm and inviting as the hail was cool and austere. The walls were hung with teal-blue silk between the white wainscoting and the wide, elaborately patterned frieze. Two sofas covered in floral chintz flanked the white mantel of the fireplace.
On one of the sofas reclined a girl so delicate in face and form that she reminded Alyssa of a very fragile, very beautiful, porcelain doll with enormous brown eyes and thick dark locks that curled about her face.
As Carlyle strode rapidly towards her, she broke into a smile and held out her arms to him. “Papa,” she cried in a voice that was as joyful as it was weak, “I am so happy you are here. I have missed you.”
He sank down beside her and hugged her as though he hoped by the strength of his embrace to squeeze the illness from her.
When at last he released her, she pleaded softly in a wispy little voice, “Please do not be angry with Aunt Hester for returning early from Bath. It is my fault, for I wanted to come home so badly. I was lonesome for Beauchamp and for you. I plagued her until she finally agreed. I...” Her speech was interrupted by a hacking cough that shook her frail body.
Carlyle turned to Pedley, standing behind him. “Send for Dr Belding at once.”
“Yes, Your Grace, but I do not know if he is at home. He went last week to visit his eldest son in Nottingham and may not have returned yet.”
As the butler hurried from the room, the duke swore succinctly under his breath. Seeing Alyssa standing beside the door, he said, “You told me once that you were a tolerably good nurse. Would you look at Ellen?”
His eyes were deeply worried. When Alyssa reached Ellen, she understood why. The girl’s large eyes were dull, her face was flushed, her frail body racked by chills, and her breathing raspy. Although it was clear that she had a fever, Alyssa was nevertheless startled when she put her hand gently upon her brow and discovered how burning hot it was.
Ellen studied Alyssa curiously. “Who are you?”
Alyssa felt Carlyle, who was standing very close to her, tense. Forcing a smile to her lips, she said lightly, “My name is Alyssa, and I have come to nurse you. I shall have you feeling much better in a day or two.” She gave one of Ellen’s thin little hands a reassuring squeeze. “But first we must get you into bed.”
The duke bent over his sick daughter, slid his arms beneath her frail body, and lifted her as if she were no heavier than a hummingbird. He carried her from the room and up the broad marble staircase, followed by his sister.
Alyssa paused in the hall to request from Pedley in a voice clearly accustomed to directing a large and well-ordered household the various items that she would need in the sick-room.
The look in the astute butler’s eyes told her that he had revised his original opinion of both her breeding and her character. It was too bad that Carlyle was not as perceptive as his butler.
At the top of the stairs, Alyssa hurried along the landing until she came to a room with a half-open door. Through it, she saw the duke laying Ellen on the bed. Hovering behind him were Lady Hester and a young woman who apparently was Ellen’s abigail. Alyssa hurried on to her own room, where she snatched up her medicine case, then went back to Ellen’s bedroom.
It was as lovely and delicate as its occupant. The walls were hung with Chinese silk in pale yellow, with matching curtains at the windows. The same yellow silk had been used to upholster the chairs and a chaise that had been placed in front of a large window.
As Alyssa stepped forward to the bed, with its luxurious hangings of yellow brocade, Carlyle irritably eyed the small case she was carrying. “Why did you waste time fetching your jewel case?”
“The “jewels” it contains are medicinal.” She placed the case on a bedside table that held a tray containing a glass and a jug of water. Beside the tray was a small portrait of a young woman with a round face and a protruding lower lip. She was very pretty, but the painter had captured a sullen discontent in her large brown eyes and a self-satisfied twist to her mouth that Alyssa found unattractive.
Ellen was once again racked by an unproductive fit of coughing and Alyssa forgot the portrait. Opening the case, she extracted
a small bottle and poured a little of its dark contents into the glass.
“First, I want you to drink this,” she told Ellen. “It will relieve your cough.”
The girl obediently swallowed the liquid, making a face as she did so, but her coughing quickly stopped.
With an almost imperceptible nod of his head, Carlyle indicated that he wished to speak to Alyssa outside. Her answering nod was equally discreet. As she went to the door, he dropped a quick kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “I shall return in a minute to sit with you, my pet.”
Ellen’s wan face broke into a smile. “I should like that very much, Papa.”
As he stepped out of the door, his face was etched with worry.
Poor man, Alyssa thought. Both of his children were unwittingly causing him considerable anxiety.
“Ellen is very ill, isn’t she?” he demanded.
“Yes, and she will be sicker before she is better,” Alyssa replied frankly.
“But will she be better?” he demanded in a voice so full of love and concern that it wrenched Alyssa’s heart. “Ellen is very delicate, you know.”
“I know,” Alyssa said soberly. “I cannot promise her recovery, but before I left Northumberland two months ago, there was an epidemic marked by the sudden onset of a high fever, dreadful chills and a hacking cough. After a day or two, if the patient was properly cared for, it abated as quickly as it had begun. I believe that is what she is suffering from, but I cannot be certain.”
“Thank you for being so frank,” he said gratefully. To distract Ellen from her illness, the duke held her hand and told her funny stories about the odd people who lived in London. Alyssa could tell by the strain in his voice how difficult this effort to be amusing was for him.
A half-hour later, Lady Hester came to the sickroom with word that Dr Belding was still at Nottingham and not expected back for another two days. “What shall we do?” she asked anxiously.
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