“I have a feeling that Andrew and Arden are in for a surprise,” Rhea predicted, thinking that Robin had had it far too easy with O’Casey and that the twins were beginning to get out of hand as well, but with Alys Meredith as their nanny, they would find not only love and affection but a firm hand as well.
“M’lady?” Alys began awkwardly. “I never got the chance to thank ye proper like for keepin’ your promise about not forgettin’ me.”
“It was my mother who asked you to stay here,” Rhea protested. “I only wish I could have helped you that day we were torn apart in Charles Town.”
“Oh, ye did ye best. I guess ye faced even worse later on, and here I was comin’ to your home with ye still missin’. Didn’t seem fair. But Their Graces were so kind, and when they asked me what I wanted to do with me life, well,” Alys said with a shy smile, “I said ’twould suit me just fine to stay here at Camareigh, if they didn’t mind, that is. Told them I’d be happy scrubbin’ the scullery, but Her Grace, well, she wouldn’t have anythin’ to do with that. Says I’m a friend of her daughter’s, and I could live here as a guest forever, but, well, I’m not one for bein’ idle. Like to think I’m payin’ me way. So Her Grace says I’m to work at whatever I want.”
“I told you they were wonderful.”
“Aye, m’lady,” Alys agreed, her tone reverent.
“When I was in the Indies, everything was so perfect, except that I didn’t know what had happened to you. Then Sir Morgan Lloyd informed us that you had returned to England and were most likely at Camareigh. I knew then that everything would turn out for the best. I was not surprised to find you still here, and happy, and now that I am with my family, I have no more worries about anything,” Rhea stated, convincing herself that everything would work out; it had to.
But Alys, for all her unworldliness, was not convinced. She had overheard too many hushed conversations, seen too many worried faces, to believe that events would evolve exactly in the manner Lady Rhea Claire seemed to think they would.
“A pity ’tis raining, for I would like a walk in the gardens,” Rhea said wistfully, and looking beyond the rivulets of water glistening on the windows, she imagined the yew-hedged walks that led to the sunken gardens where her passage would be reflected in the shimmering surface of the lily pond. She would not have lingered long, however, and soon would have left behind the neatly trimmed topiary gardens, for her destination was the natural beauty of the parkland, where a gently sloping meadow descended to a lake where swans drifted peacefully in the quiet.
“Oh, m’lady.” Alys gasped. “I nearly forgot! There be visitors newly arrived. They be down in the—”
But Rhea waited to hear no more. With a rustling of her skirts and a discreet flash of silken ankles, she was through the gallery and quickly to the Chinese Room, the first-floor salon where visitors were usually greeted.
Past the liveried footmen she sped, stopping only once, to glance quickly into one of the tall pier glasses before she entered through the double doors of the Chinese Room.
A man was standing with his back to the doors, talking with her father. Her eyes on that tall figure, Rhea did not notice the other occupants of the room. “Dante!” she cried, stopping in her tracks when the man turned around.
“Lady Rhea Claire!” cried Wesley Lawton, Earl of Rendale, forgetting his gentlemanly dignity as he rushed toward her, his hands held out. “Good Lord! I’ve never seen you looking so beautiful,” he exclaimed, momentarily forgetting himself. His eyes missed nothing of her appearance. Dressed in a taffeta gown of turquoise trimmed in lace and violet bows, her golden hair entwined with turquoise and violet ribbons, she was stunning. This was hardly what Wesley Lawton had been expecting to find upon seeing Rhea for the first time since she was kidnapped and he was struck down by those murderous ruffians.
Rhea went numb. She had been expecting to see Dante’s face, not the florid face of Wesley Lawton. Although undeniably handsome, he suddenly seemed less refined when compared to Dante’s classical features, and, indeed, the earl seemed less masculine to Rhea’s critical eye when she remembered Dante’s lean build and bronzed skin. Dressed in a strawberry-colored satin coat and breeches, the height of fashion, the earl seemed all pink and white and soft.
And suddenly Rhea could barely stand to have him touch her flesh. But she held on to her manners. “How very kind of you to say so, Wesley. And I must say it is gratifying to see you looking so well. I had, until arriving back in England, thought you dead.”
“Good Lord, not really. My dear Rhea Claire, I am only sorry that I was unsuccessful in saving you from attack. Didn’t even have the pleasure of putting a hole in that one blackguard’s head,” the earl fumed, his manly dignity still smarting.
“Rhea Claire! ’Tis just wonderful to be seeing you again, and I swear ’tisn’t fair that you should be looking so well after all you’ve been through,” the strident voice Rhea remembered only too well sounded behind her. Turning around, she found herself staring into the sweetly smiling face of Caroline Winters. “And whatever have you done to your skin? Why, lud, but you’re as brown as a stable hand,” Caroline crowed.
“Caroline. Sir Jeremy,” Rhea greeted them, but there was genuine warmth in her voice only for the latter.
“My dear, it is good to see you. I have been so concerned about your welfare, not to mention being concerned about your mother and father. They have suffered so much.” Sir Jeremy gave Rhea a fond hug and kissed her cheek.
“How is your gout? No more bad bouts?” Rhea asked as she hooked her arm through his, thankful to be able to disengage herself politely from conversation with Wesley and Caroline.
“How kind of you to ask, my dear,” Sir Jeremy beamed, touched. His own daughter seldom mentioned his fitness except to complain about his infirmities keeping her from traveling to London as often as she wished.
Caroline Winters sighed. She’d been privy to those tiresome details for most of the journey to Camareigh. Not one to let an opportunity go by, she quickly linked her arm with Wesley Lawton’s, a coquettish look on her plump face as she guided him to the sofa. But despite her attempts to capture his attention, the earl’s eyes never strayed from Rhea.
“I was telling your father that we would have arrived even sooner, but Caroline insisted on waiting for Wesley to arrive at Winterhall, for we knew that Lucien had sent word to him as well. We thought we should all travel together—so much safer nowadays. If something like what happened to you, my dear, can happen once, then it can happen again. Can’t be too safe.” Sir Jeremy coughed in embarrassment as he realized he’d brought up a subject best left forgotten. “Well, I s’pose, m’dear, you’d rather not speak of that. Tch, tch. ’Twas a tragedy.”
But his daughter, whose avid curiosity often bordered on rude impertinence, wanted to hear everything about the rumors they had been hearing.
“Now, Father,” Caroline complained, a pout forming on her lips, “since I nearly lost my life in the affair, I think I have a right to hear all about what happened to Rhea after she left England. ’Tis the least she can do. Why, I’ve never been the same since. I still have nightmares about that dreadful affair and those horrible men,” Caroline said dramatically while fanning herself, lest she become too unnerved and possibly faint right into the arms of the Earl of Rendale.
“My dear, really,” Sir Jeremy reprimanded his daughter for her insensitive curiosity. “Rhea need say nothing more about the unfortunate affair. We should be quite satisfied just to know that she is safely back at Camareigh. And, as I said before, Lucien,” Sir Jeremy said to his longtime friend, “we are honored that you invited us here. After all, Rhea has been back only a little over a week.”
“We consider you part of the family, Jeremy,” Lucien said, refraining from emphasizing the you as he would have liked. He supposed that Jeremy Winters had done the best he could in raising his motherless daughter. She was, af
ter all, his only child.
“Oh, Papa, do not be foolish. Why, I am Rhea’s best friend, and I am only interested because I feel it is my duty to set right the scandalous gossip spreading through London about Rhea Claire. Oh, my dear,” Caroline said with a sly glance from beneath lowered lashes, “you do realize that your reputation is, well, not quite…” She paused, as if too embarrassed to continue, but she was certain that Wesley caught her drift. And if there was one thing Wesley Lawton, Earl of Rendale, was concerned about, it was his good name. It just would not do for a man in his position to align with a woman whose reputation had been damaged, even if she were the daughter of the powerful Duke of Camareigh.
“Caroline!” Sir Jeremy interjected, his face turning a bright pink with embarrassed exasperation.
“Well, ’tis the truth,” Caroline protested, glancing around as though she were being unjustly accused. “Why, I daresay that Rhea Claire is no longer considered quite as eligible a catch as she once may have been. Oh, I think it just too awful, but what can one do?” she asked with a fine show of concern for the friend she had always heartily disliked. Her envy of Rhea Claire Dominick’s title and fortune, not to mention incredible beauty, had helped sour her disposition into one of perpetual discontent.
Having sought to put the other young woman out of countenance with her cleverly aimed barbs, she was therefore startled to hear Rhea’s gentle laughter. Caroline’s words of commiseration died on her lips.
“You are very kind to be so concerned about my welfare, Caroline,” Rhea said, thinking Caroline Winters had not changed much in the past year, “but you needn’t worry. You see, I am indeed no longer eligible, but only because I am already wed.”
Caroline’s squeal of shock was nearly drowned out by the earl’s exclamation of disbelief. But Caroline’s shocked dismay turned to exultation as she realized that she need no longer compete with Rhea Claire for the attentions of Wesley Lawton.
“My dear, how absolutely wonderful!” she cried, speaking the truth for the first time in her life when complimenting her former rival.
“This is true?” the earl said, his voice an undignified squeak.
“Yes,” Rhea answered simply, her eyes searching out her father’s. But the duke was sipping a brandy, his thoughts apparently lost in the swirling movement of the liquid.
“B-but I do not understand. Whom did you marry? You’ve just returned from the colonies. There hasn’t been time,” the earl protested. He had always believed that Lady Rhea Claire Dominick would someday become his wife. He had intended it since he’d seen her first, a little girl held in her mother’s arms. It was only right that their families, both revered for centuries, be united by the marriage of himself and Rhea Claire.
Poor Wesley, Rhea thought, feeling a certain amount of pity for the poor, pompous Earl of Rendale. He looked devastated, and she was about to suggest her father offer him a brandy to bring back some of his color when he asked with a beseeching look, “It was not a colonial you wed? Or, heaven forbid, a sailor?” he demanded, thinking he would never again be able to show his face in London if he had lost out to some lowborn lout with neither family name nor fortune. The humiliation of it was almost too much even to consider.
Rhea shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. She knew that the saving grace for the Earl of Rendale would be that, although she had married a man of questionable reputation, her husband was a titled gentleman of both fortune and family. “My husband’s name is Dante Leighton. He was the captain of the Sea Dragon, the ship I found myself aboard after leaving Charles Town, and the ship which returned me safely to England.”
If the Earl of Rendale had been a dog, he would have been put out of his misery, for never had there been such a suffering look on a man than on the earl’s pale face in that instant. “A sea captain?” he said weakly. The man was probably not even English, he thought, not with that Italian-sounding first name.
“Yes,” Rhea admitted, enjoying prolonging his misery. For, really, what business was it of his? She even allowed Caroline a few more moments of basking in scandalous pleasure before she said, “Oh, did I not mention that Dante is the Marquis of Jacqobi?” Even the duke had to smile at the abrupt change of expressions on the two faces.
“A marquis?” Caroline whispered in despair. Rhea Claire, despite her misfortune, had managed to marry a marquis. She was a marchioness now, with a title more exalted even than that of countess, which was what Caroline would possess if she ever managed to get the earl’s ring on her plump finger. It was just too much, thought Caroline, fanning herself in earnest this time, for she was definitely feeling faint.
“Jacqobi?” the earl repeated the name. He prided himself on being familiar with the titled families of the realm. “A West Country family? Devonshire, that’s it. They had a castle. Dates from about the eleventh century, I believe. The title is quite old, yes, indeed. A most revered title,” he said with a sigh of relief, for although he had lost Rhea Claire, at least he had lost out to a marquis. But then he remembered something. “I believe I am familiar with this Dante Leighton, the current holder of the title. He was a gambler. He lost most of the family fortune, am I not correct?” he asked patronizingly as he thought of his own bank account and the considerable holdings he possessed all over the country.
“Yes. Dante has supported himself as a privateer these past years, since he left England.”
“I seem to remember a bit of scandal associated with his name,” the earl added. “Nothing I heard firsthand, of course. I believe I am quite a few years younger than he is.”
“Really?” Caroline breathed, her depression lifting as she realized that Rhea had married a fortune hunter. “Oh, my dear, I am sorry. I suppose you will be living on your own fortune. Or has His Grace cut you off without a farthing?” she asked hopefully.
“Dante is a very wealthy man,” Rhea informed the crestfallen Caroline. Rhea did not feel in the least guilty about enjoying the other young woman’s obvious unhappiness. Her mother had told her about Caroline’s reprehensible behavior when questioned about the kidnapping. She had been found lying unconscious on the side of the road the day of the kidnapping, but rather than admit she had no important information to give them about the kidnappers, she had lied outrageously in order to play up her own role in the drama. Her lies had misled the searchers for several days as they tried to track down the Gypsies of the girl’s story. The duchess never had believed Caroline’s harebrained tale of evil Gypsies and a dancing bear and had never forgiven Caroline for her lies.
“I must say I am relieved to hear that, for I have never cared to learn of a fellow member of the House of Lords squandering a fortune, let alone an irreplaceable inheritance. If I thought someone other than a Lawton might one day be living in Rendale House, well, I should burn the place to the ground this very instant. Must preserve family tradition at all costs,” he said fervently.
“How rich is your husband?” Caroline asked bluntly.
“While I was aboard the Sea Dragon, we discovered a sunken Spanish galleon, and in its hold was a fortune in gold and silver ingots. The crew members are all quite wealthy men now. In fact, one of the men is intending to return home and buy the manor house of the family his father used to foot for. If it is not for sale, then he says he will build the most elegant, palatial estate this side of Yarmouth,” Rhea said, thinking the Sea Dragon’s ex-bos’n would most likely succeed.
The punctilious Earl of Rendale winced. A member of the lower classes being in possession of a fortune could lead only to disaster. The upstarts would try to buy themselves respectability, and because many of the best families, through misfortune and mismanagement, now found themselves in dire straits, untitled and boorish vermin would someday be dining in some of England’s best homes.
With a great heaviness in his heart, the earl glanced around at the tasteful furnishings of the Chinese Room, thinking what a pity it was tha
t there would be no union between their two great families. He gratefully accepted the brandy which the footman, dressed in blue-and-gold livery, was serving with a quiet dignity one found in all the servants at Camareigh.
Caroline selected a plateful of delicate cakes from a platter, but for once her heart wasn’t in it and she only pecked at the delectable pastry. Although Rhea Claire was no longer a threat to her becoming the next Countess of Rendale, Caroline felt no great satisfaction. It just wasn’t fair! Lady Rhea Claire Dom—no, Lady Jacqobi, had always had everything—grace, beauty, intelligence, wealth, and now she was married to a marquis. It just wasn’t fair! Caroline sulked, eyeing Rhea’s turquoise gown with envy.
Wiping a dab of cream from the corner of her mouth, a sudden thought struck Caroline as she realized that she had yet to meet this insufferable Dante Leighton, this irritating Marquis of Jacqobi. “Where is your husband?” she asked, her voice cutting across the room and into the conversation Rhea was having with her father.
“He is still in London, seeing to his ship and crew,” Rhea explained. “But we expect him soon, do we not, Father?”
The Duke of Camareigh smiled. Sir Jeremy knew from experience that Lucien Dominick’s smile was not a reflection of pleasant thoughts. “Undoubtedly the gentleman in question will come. A gambling man could not resist the challenge,” he predicted wisely. “Or the odds.” And whether they were in Dante Leighton’s favor or against, only the duke seemed to know.
Eight
Necessity brings him here, not pleasure.
—Dante
It was one of those rare autumn days, summerlike in warmth, when Dante Leighton saw Camareigh for the first time. Golden sunlight slanted down on the honey-hued walls of the great house, which sat like a shining crown atop a gentle knoll. Its position afforded it a commanding view of the peaceful Somerset countryside.
Dark Before the Rising Sun Page 17