by Nan Ryan
“I hope you had your money on Eastern Dancer,” he said when he reached her.
“Indeed I did,” she said as he took her hand and helped her to her feet. “And that’s not all.” Gripping her cane, she leaned close and whispered in his ear exactly how much she won for the afternoon.
“Perhaps you could float me a loan,” he teased, taking her arm and directing her out past the stables to the waiting one-horse gig.
“I don’t know about that,” she said, “but I’d sure be up for an evening at Canfield’s. You interested?”
Fox gingerly handed Olivia up into the gig and climbed in beside her. “Sorry, old girl. Afraid I’ll have to ask for a rain check.”
“Oh? You get a better offer?”
Fox chuckled. “No, of course not. Don’t you remember? I told you last week that I’m buying dinner for our jockeys this evening.”
“Oh, yes, I had forgotten.”
“It’s something I do every year when the season’s about to end. Just a little private celebration to show the boys my—and Hank’s—appreciation.”
“You’re a nice man, Fox Connor.”
“Be more than happy to take you to Canfield’s tomorrow night, Olivia.”
I won’t be here tomorrow night, Fox. “Yes. Tomorrow night it is. I’ll look forward to it.”
The two chatted amiably on the way back to the estate. Once there, Fox helped Olivia out of the gig, took her arm and escorted her up the steps to the front door.
He said, “We haven’t been to Moon’s yet, have we, Olivia?” Olivia didn’t trust her voice. She shook her head.
“Well, then how about we drive up to the lake tomorrow evening, enjoy a fish dinner at Moon’s, then come back to Canfield’s. Sound good to you?”
Swallowing with difficulty, Olivia nodded.
“Then it’s settled.” Fox squeezed her hand, then released it. “Good afternoon, my dear. Until tomorrow.”
“Until tomorrow,” she managed to say, forcing herself to smile.
Waving, Olivia leaned on her cane and watched him skip down the front steps, climb into the gig and drive away. “Goodbye, Fox.”
She exhaled heavily and turned to go inside.
“Wardley, will you kindly stop buzzing around the room like an annoying bumblebee! Sit down before you give me a headache,” Lady Nardees scolded her husband as she reached for another cup of custard.
She was the only one still seated at the table after the huge Sunday dinner. The unruly children had been sent off to bed, but none had gone without a fight. The sounds of their protests carried through the suite as harried servants cajoled and pleaded and chased down their reluctant wards.
Lord Nardees never noticed the commotion. He was pacing the room nervously, filled with both dread and anticipation.
“Did you hear me, Wardley?” asked Lady Nardees. “What’s bothering you this evening?”
“Why, not a thing, angel,” he said. He stopped behind her chair and gave her plump shoulders an affectionate squeeze. He straightened and said, “Now remember, my sweet, I have an important business engagement tonight.”
“I most certainly do not remember,” she said, shoving her empty custard cup away and patting her full belly. “I thought we were going to the band concert at the Grand Union.”
“I’d like nothing better, but Hank Cassidy has a couple of fine Thoroughbreds I simply must own. I have agreed to meet with him this evening and I’m late already.”
“Well go on and have your meeting,” said Lady Nardees, pushing back her chair. “Then come right back here and take me to the concert.”
The lord rushed forth to help his wife struggle up out of her chair. When finally she was on her feet, he took her hand in his, kissed it, then made a face when a blob of custard clung to his lips.
He licked it away and said, “I wish I could, Beatrice. But I’ve no idea how long the meeting will last. I’m told Cassidy drives a hard bargain and I’ve no intention of letting him get the best of me.”
Lady Nardess put her hands on her ample hips. “When will you get back, Wardley?”
“Don’t wait up, my love,” he said, hardly daring to breathe, hoping she wouldn’t cause a scene. He was planning, after his meeting with Cassidy, to join one of the blondes he’d had transported up from Palmetto Palace. “It could be quite late, I’m afraid.”
Lady Nardees frowned and shook her head, setting her curls to dancing. “You and those big ugly beasts. What a ridiculous pastime. I can think of many things that would be more enjoyable than watching a bunch of horses racing around a track.”
The baron smiled. So can I, dear, so can I. “It’s the sport of Kings, Beatrice, and therefore a fitting interest for a titled gentleman.”
Beatrice shrugged, then yawned sleepily. “Very well, go. But don’t you dare wake me when you come in.”
“I’ll be very quiet,” he said, pressing his cheek to hers, and went for his suit jacket. Thrusting his short arms into the sleeves, he said over his shoulder, “Good night, dear. Sleep well.”
He made a quick exit and once he was out in the wide corridor, he exhaled with relief. Then he smiled, pleased. She suspected nothing. She would sleep through the night without waking. She would have no idea that as she slumbered he would be down in the hotel cottages carefully shaving away all the golden hair from one of his four lovely blond ladies.
Lord Nardees’s smile faded. Before he could begin his evening of sexual pleasure, he had to keep his appointment with Hank Cassidy. He wished now he had turned down Cassidy’s invitation to meet at the Duchess’s estate.
The haughty Duchess of Beaumont had the unique ability to make him nervous and unsure of himself. They rarely saw each other in London, but on those occasions when they were at the same social affair, Charmaine Beaumont always looked at him as if she knew his guilty secrets.
That was foolish. How could she know? She didn’t. She just didn’t like him. Why, he couldn’t fathom. He hadn’t seen her since arriving here at the Springs and would just as soon have avoided her entirely.
But there was really nothing to worry about. The gossips said she was having a torrid affair with Cassidy. Said she was so happy she glowed and was so much lovelier than she’d ever been she was hardly recognizable.
The lord began to relax. The tart-tongued duchess would be on her best behavior around Cassidy.
Thirty-Four
“What shall I do?” Claire lamented the minute Olivia stepped into the house. “Hank has invited the dreadful Lord Nardees to the estate this very evening!”
“Dear lord in heaven!” Olivia exclaimed, placing her silver-handled cane in the umbrella stand. “I had no idea the two knew each other. And why on earth would Hank ask the baron to come here?”
She took Claire’s arm and guided her into the sitting room.
“It’s just my luck! Nardees has shown an interest in buying a couple of Hank’s Thoroughbreds,” Claire said, shaking her head. “He’s coming out this evening to discuss it further. We have to leave, Olivia! Right now, this afternoon. Start packing and hurry. We can’t wait until morning.”
“It was a bit rude of Hank to invite Nardees to your abode. Perhaps the ways of the West, but still…”
“Never mind that. Start packing!”
“It’s too late, love,” Olivia told her, resignedly. “The last train has already left the station.”
“No more trains will…?”
“None going down into the city. The last train up from New York is due in at eight this evening.” Olivia shrugged narrow shoulders. “Which will do us no good. After it discharges the passengers, the train sits in the station until early tomorrow morning. It’s the train we’ll be taking down tomorrow.”
“No,” Claire declared, exhaling with defeat. “No, no, no,” she murmured, distraught. She sank down onto a chair and clasped her hands between her knees. “I can’t even run away and avoid the inevitable. I deserve this,” she said, brow furrowed. “I do, I deserve
it. It’s just punishment for an inexcusable deception. I cannot flee like the coward I am. I must stay here and be humiliated. Forced to witness the disgust in Hank’s eyes when he learns the ugly truth about me.”
Olivia sat down on the footstool facing Claire. “You’re making too much of this. Be reasonable. Think it about it. If you have something to hide, so does Nardees. He won’t tip his hand. Do you really suppose he wants you telling Hank what happened back in London?” Her thinning eyebrows lifted. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know Nardees, Olivia. He’s a vile, mean bastard and he’d like nothing better than to see me brought to my knees.” She looked up at the older woman. “I can’t do this. I won’t do it. You will have to tell Hank that I’ve suddenly taken ill, am bedfast, too sick to come downstairs and—”
“I will do no such thing,” Olivia folded her arms across her chest. “Tonight is the final performance in this well-acted drama and you will be at center stage to continue playing your starring role.” Claire started to object; Olivia silenced her. “Tomorrow a sad, repentant Claire Orwell can be on that morning train. But tonight the carefree Duchess of Beaumont will laugh off any and all ridiculous accusations of the loathsome Lord Nardees. Then once the baron’s gone, you’ll spend the rest of the evening in the arms of the Nevada Silver King, the handsome young man who is simply mad about you.”
“Hank is not mad about me,” Claire said sadly. “He’s mad about the Duchess of Beaumont.”
“A mere quibble, child. No matter. Until dawn tomorrow, you are the duchess,” said Olivia. “Now act like it!”
Shoulders slumping, Claire sat there mulling over what Olivia proposed. Soon her back straightened and her eyes narrowed with determination. She lifted her chin in defiance.
“You are absolutely right, you wise old dear. Until tomorrow, I am the Duchess of Beaumont. This is my estate. And Hank Cassidy is my invited guest. I shall wear my most beautiful gown and have the most wonderful dinner served in the candlelit dinning room at precisely 8:00 p.m. And after dinner, when I have hurried Lord Nardees out of my house, I will go for a ride in the moonlight with my lover and…and…” She drew a shallow breath. “I will make it a night to remember for the rest of my life.”
“Brava! Brava!” praised Olivia, laughing and clapping her hands.
“Why so nervous, Duchess?” Hank asked after dinner that evening as he sat comfortably on the sofa in the drawing room while Claire paced back and forth.
“I’m not nervous,” Claire said, so nervous she was about to jump out of her skin.
Any infusion of self-assurance she’d briefly enjoyed earlier had long since faded and she couldn’t sit still. Her heart had nearly stopped beating when, a half hour ago as she and Hank dined, she’d thought she heard a carriage coming up the drive. She had steeled herself for the inevitable, gritting her teeth and waiting for the doorbell to ring.
But it never had.
She was puzzled.
If it hadn’t been Lord Nardees arriving, then who had it been? And why hadn’t the visitor rung the bell?
“Hank,” Claire stopped pacing and asked, “Did you hear a carriage in the drive a while ago?”
“I thought I did,” he said, nodding. “Must have been wrong, though. Or maybe someone got lost, turned into the estate and then realized their mistake.”
“I suppose,” she murmured and went back to pacing.
Hank frowned. “What is it? I’ll ask you again. Why are you so nervous?”
“Not nervous,” she said. “Just restless. Must we stay in all evening? Why not meet with Lord Nardees tomorrow? You promised we’d go for a ride, drive far out of town. Let’s leave now and—”
Hank raised a hand to silence Claire. “Hear that?”
“What? I don’t hear anything.” But even as she spoke, she heard the distinctive sound of a carriage rolling to a stop on the graveled drive out front.
“That’ll be Nardees,” Hank said, rising to his feet.
Claire didn’t reply. She hurriedly crossed to the sofa and dropped down onto it, not trusting her legs to support her. At the sound of the loud knock she stiffened, balling her hands into fists on her lap.
Jenkins answered the door. He ushered the portly baron into the drawing room. “Lord Wardley Nardees,” the butler announced with a bow.
“I say, Cassidy, sorry I’m late, but I was…I was…” He saw Claire and abruptly stopped speaking. His eyes widened and he blanched, then frowned.
“Doesn’t matter,” said Hank, reaching out to shake the baron’s hand. “I believe you know my beautiful companion, the Duchess of Beaumont.” He urged the baron forward. “Charmaine, you remember Lord Nardees.”
Hank looked from one to the other. “Your Grace,” said Nardees and reached for her hand. Claire felt her flesh crawl when he leaned over and pressed a wet kiss to the back of her hand.
“Milord,” she said softly.
“Won’t you have a seat, Lord Nardees?” Hank extended his hand, indicating an easy chair.
Once seated, Nardees paid little attention to what Hank was saying. He turned his beady eyes on Claire and licked his fleshy lips.
“Your Grace,” he said with a smirk, and Claire’s heart sank. “It’s so nice to see you again, although I must admit, I hardly recognized you. You’re more beautiful than ever.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you been in Saratoga long?”
“No, I have not,” she said, her tone brittle as she lifted her chin and met his gaze, her eyes flashing a warning.
Hank spoke, drawing the baron’s attention, but Claire could feel his eyes sliding back to her, knew he was enjoying himself at her expense. She didn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut. She had more to lose than he, and he knew it.
If he managed to convince Hank she was not the Duchess of Beaumont, then certainly Hank would not believe her when she declared that the baron had tried to sexually assault her and, failing in the attempt, had had her thrown into Newgate. Once Hank knew she was a liar he would believe nothing she had to say. He would surely take the word of a genuine nobleman over a commoner governess.
Her head abuzz, Claire heard only bits and pieces of the conversation going on between Hank and the baron. She heard Hank mention Black Satin and a couple of his other Thoroughbreds. She was unaware of Nardees’s reply.
But she snapped to attention when the baron, shifting his focus squarely on her again, said, slyly, “I say, Cassidy, my good man, I abhor dishonesty of any kind. Don’t you?”
Hank scowled, insulted. “Sir, if you are questioning my integrity, I—”
“No, no, not yours, Cassidy. But…”
“Shall I serve the brandy in here, Your Grace?” interrupted a tall, blond servant in a parlor maid’s uniform.
And, eyes sparkling devilishly, the real Duchess of Beaumont, dressed in a demure black uniform with white organza apron and matching cap, entered the drawing room. She bore a silver tray atop of which rested three snifters of cognac.
Immediately recognizing the duchess from photographs she’d seen in the London Times society pages, Claire stared in astonishment and felt all the blood drain from her face. Just then the devilish duchess turned her head and winked at Claire before approaching the sputtering Lord Nardees.
“Brandy, milord?” the duchess asked politely, stepping up to him, bending to offer the tray. He stared, speechless, mouth drooping open. “No?” the duchess said with a smile and a silent message in her glittering eyes. “What’s that? You were just leaving? Then I must see you out.”
Thwarted, the red-faced baron grabbed a brandy and downed it in one swallow. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, rose and began making excuses as he headed for the door.
Hank was totally baffled. On his feet now, he said, “Lord Nardees, no need for you to leave. We haven’t really discussed—”
“Uh…I…I…just remembered,” said Nardees, “I promised Lady Nardees I’d take her to a band concert this eveni
ng. You understand.”
“Well, yes, sure, I understand.” Hank quickly demurred, but he felt there was more going on here than met the eye.
“We’ll get together sometime next week,” said Nardees.
“Come along, milord. I’ll see you out,” said the impish Duchess of Beaumont, setting her tray down and taking his arm.
Out in the wide foyer, the duchess propelled the baron directly to the front door and slipped out behind him.
“What the devil is going on here, Charmaine?” he asked, fuming.
“Why, we’re simply having a bit of sport is all.” She laughed softly and added, “Isn’t that why you frequently visit ladies of the evening? For a bit of sport?”
His round face rapidly turning scarlet, he threatened, “You dare say one word to—”
“Your dear trusting little wife? Why, Lord Nardees, you old silly, you. I wouldn’t dream of exposing your countless infidelities.” She laughed then and confided, “Wouldn’t you know it? On the train coming up from the city I was fortunate enough to sit with a quartet of lively young blond women. So friendly they were, and such fun. Now why do you suppose they were coming to Saratoga?”
The baron frowned and tried to pull free of her. The duchess clung to his arm.
“Don’t know? Then I shall tell you,” she said, enjoying his discomfort. “A couple of the young ladies had silver flasks in their possession. It’s a long ride and we got acquainted and they passed the flasks around.” She shook her head. “It’s amazing how a drink or two loosens lips, isn’t it, Wardley?”
“What are you going on about, Charmaine? I am late for—”
“You’re a betting gentleman, are you not, Wardley? As I recall, you are. I would wager this estate that you had those blond lovelies transported up to the Springs. Am I right? I am, I can tell by the look on your face. They are stashed away in the cottages at the United States Hotel for midnight visits, eh, Wardley?”
“So help me, Charmaine Beaumont, if you so much as—”
“Not a word shall pass my lips,” she said with a naughty smile. “And you, I trust, will feel equally obligated to keep quiet about my young friend’s harmless impersonation.”