A Lady by Chance (Historical Regency Romance) (2 page)

"He's been able to assuage his conscience by convincing himself the emperor's armies now consist mostly of foreigners who've been conquered by the French."

"Can't fault that, either."

Rising, Haverstock blew out a nearby tallow. "You must stay here tomorrow night so we can get an early start the following morning."

Anna pulled off her drab brown gloves and carefully placed them on her silken bed before untying her equally drab bonnet and depositing it next to the gloves for Colette to put up when she returned from her half day off. Of course, Anna was in for a thorough scolding from her life-long abigail. First, Colette would be angry because she had gone to the East End without her protection. Anna smiled, amused at the unlikeliness of the thin old maid preventing even the harmless fleecing of a street urchin.

Next, Colette would chide Anna for going out in such unfashionable attire.

"You must always dress as the grand lady you are," Colette recited daily.

But despite the last wishes of her mother, Anna knew she would never be a lady, nor would she ever be welcome in the fine homes of Mayfair. She dropped onto the chaise and lamented the dreariness and hopelessness of her life. She was eighteen years old, the owner of a large fortune, not at all unattractive, yet she had no hope of being presented. And even less hope of marrying a gentleman.

In her loneliest moments she gave way to a deep, aching longing to share her life with a man who would accept her as an equal, someone who would love her and give her the children she so desperately wanted.

Even more than the partnership and the children, she hoped for a love as powerful as her parents', a love so strong they had happily deflected society's scorn. But her parents' imperfect union had created a daughter who could never belong to either of their worlds.

Anna cast her head heavenward. Oh, Mama, I'm sorry to disappoint you.

The most social situation Anna ever encountered was her Sunday morning church service where the ladies enviously eyed her exquisite clothing while the men endeavored to make her acquaintance.

She stretched out her legs and sighed. It is I who is so unfortunate I need the people of the East End more than they need me. In the five years since her mother's death, the trips to the East End had provided her only joy. She had no friends. No male admirers. Her solicitor was her only caller. She had long since dismissed her dancing master over Colette's objections, for Colette still harbored illusions that Anna would go to fine balls and dazzle the young men as her mother had done in France so many years ago. The devoted Colette would never concede the futility of Annette's dreams for her daughter.

While Anna was engaged in her morose thoughts, Perkins rapped forcefully at her chamber door. "A caller for you, Miss de Mouchet."

Anna sat upright, startled by the announcement. Her solicitor had been here yesterday, so he would not be calling again. Who could her caller be? Walking to the door, Anna asked, "Pray, who is it?"

As she opened the door, Perkins handed her a gentleman's card.

It was Sir Henry Vinson's.

"Tell the gentleman I will be down in ten minutes."

Even if she had never been particularly fond of Sir Henry, she would meet him in one of her most fashionable morning dresses. Colette might contemplate murder otherwise.

As she removed the old East End garments, Anna wondered why Sir Henry would be calling. She had scarcely seen him since her mother's funeral. She had always suspected he had been in love with her mother, but Sir Henry was far too selfish to marry. He must be fifty now, and she had yet to hear of him marrying.

She felt a stab of fear at the fleeting thought that perhaps he wished now to marry. To marry her for her fortune.

She would never be that desperate.

Sir Henry gazed out the window at Grosvenor Square. He was surprised over his own nervousness at facing Annette's daughter. Of course, his very future could depend on the outcome of the meeting. He hated to admit a mere girl held his fate in her inexperienced hands, but he remembered her deft hands effortlessly shuffling and dealing cards as one born to the task. Smiling, he knew it was in her power to bring him the riches he had sought for so long.

Twenty-five thousand pounds now. And later, the promise of a ministry in France. Bonaparte himself had offered the Palais Vendome to Sir Henry if his activities here in London met with success.

How he despised these arrogant English aristocrats! Especially the straight-laced Haverstock. Though the young marquess avowed disdain for his deceased father, he very much reminded Sir Henry of his sire. Both men had been decidedly cool toward Sir Henry, and the son shared no confidences with him though they worked in the same department at the Foreign Office. He was every bit as haughty as his father had been.

Sir Henry's back was to Anna when she entered the room. He turned when he smelled the rose water. Annette's scent. He froze as Anna greeted him. It was as if he were being transported back in time nearly thirty years, to the Recheaux Chateau, recalling a time of lavishment that was now as buried as the pharaohs and as unlikely to ever be resurrected. A time before the revolution.

If it weren't for her very English voice, Anna de Mouchet would be an exact copy of her mother, he thought, his heart racing even now as he remembered his devotion to Annette. No woman had ever been more beautiful. Yet, this girl before him was. He noted her dark brown locks which glistened golden in the late afternoon sunlight. Her creamy, petal-soft skin with natural pink in her cheeks set of her spectacular eyes. They were large and almond shaped and the color of rich coffee beans. God's teeth, but they were beautiful! Even her figure was perfection.

And, he noted appreciatively, she had inherited her mother's taste for what was the finest a modiste had to offer. She wore a pink gown of exquisite cut, just low enough in front to reveal her ivory chest and to display the promise of a woman's full breasts. His eyes traveled down the length of her, resting at her satin slippers that were a perfect match to her dress, both of them accenting the blush in her cheeks.

"Ah, Anna, you are the very picture of you mother."

"I perceive that as a compliment, Sir Henry." She indicated a settee. "Do have a seat. Will you have tea?"

He lowered his tall, thin frame on to the settee. "No, my dear. Just looking at you will be enough nourishment for me." He reminded himself not be a glutton, reaching for the whole larder at once. He would take his bounty a little at a time by manipulating the girl with steady doses of prevarication.

She blushed and sat in a chair several feet away. She knew she should tell him how very good it was to see him, but Anna deplored lying. Instead she said, "I trust you have been well?  I've not heard from you in a very long while."

"Since your mother's funeral," he said, his expression grim. "You are probably wondering why I have come."

"Old friends don't need a reason."

"Ah, Anna. You make me ashamed I have not come sooner. Actually, I have been thinking about your mother – and you – a great deal of late. A situation has arisen which Annette would have been able to effortlessly handle. I think, though, you are the very one I need."

"You need me?" Was the wretched man going to offer for her hand?

He resituated himself on the settee and met her gaze squarely. "I have a business proposition to make."

Thinking only of his balding head and long nose, she refused to look him in the eye, sincerely hoping his proposition wasn't matrimony. "But, I assure you, I am quite well off." She tried to sound mature.

"No one ever has enough money, Anna."

"But I live quietly and my needs are not great."

"There is no one who could turn down twenty-five thousand pounds."

It was a very great sum, indeed. She would be foolish not to listen. Leaning forward, she asked, "What do you want from me, Sir Henry?"

"I remember how well you played cards as a child."

She stiffened. "I haven't played in years."

"Ah, but one of your skill never forgets."

Her eyes narrowed. "Does your proposition have something to do with me playing cards?"

"Indeed, it does."

"Then I can listen no more. My mother abhorred the idea of my playing, and I respect her memory too much to disregard her wishes."

"Anna, I'm offering a vast sum for one night's  play."

She wasn't tempted, but she was curious. "Pray, what do you wish of me?"

"I know a very foolish man who will come into possession of fifty thousand pounds in cash tomorrow. I intend that half of it will go to you and half to me. For reasons I cannot disclose, I cannot relieve him of the money. That is why I need you. I plan to bring him to your parlor where you will make sure he is plied with the liquor for which he has a great fondness. Then, you will suggest a game of cards. You will suggest simple wagering and allow him to win at first. Then, as the stakes are raised, you will begin to win – using skills learned from your mother."

Anna sprang to her feet, fully intending to show him the door. "What you suggest, Sir Henry, is not only cheating, but stealing, and I will have no part of it."

"Sit down, Anna, and hear me out."

"There's nothing you can say that will change my mind."

He stood up and walked to her. "Who is the man you hate most in this world? Who is the man you blame for your mother's death?"

Without hesitation, she answered, "The Marquess of Haverstock."

Sir Henry's cool green eyes glinted. "Just so. My plan will ruin Lord Haverstock." Sir Henry lifted her chin. "Wouldn't that make you happy, my dear?"

"Nothing would make me happier. I loathe the man. But I cannot do it. To do so would be breaking a solemn promise to my mother."

"For God's sake, Anna, she's been dead five years," he said harshly, then softened. "Trust me. Annette would be proud of you for making twenty-five-thousand pounds in one day. She knew that large fortunes open many doors."

 "I will not change my mind."

A frown on his narrow face, he strolled to the window and stood there pondering his next move. He would have to reveal more of the true scope of his plans. More carefully fed lies. But he had confidence he could persuade her to do what would be far more repugnant to her than cheating at cards.

Chapter 2

"Come, let us sit together," Sir Henry said, walking to the damask sofa. "I have much to tell you."

They sat down, Anna leaving a wide gap between herself and her caller.

A solemn expression on his face, Sir Henry turned to Anna and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "Since the money didn't tempt you, I'm going to have to take you in my confidence."

She eyed him warily.

"Were my superiors to know what I'm about to tell you, I could be in serious trouble." He took a deep breath. "You see, I work at the Foreign Office – as does Lord Haverstock. The two of us are directly involved in French espionage." A pained look crossed his face. "Sadly, we suspect Lord Haverstock is in the employ of the French."

"How could such a man ever have been given a position of importance?" Anna asked, dismay and disgust in her voice.

"Actually, it is Lord Haverstock's son I'm speaking of. The father – the one you despise – is dead."

"Then I have no complaint against the son. I know too painfully the injustice of branding the child for the sins of the parent."

"But I assure you the son is equally loathsome. He must be thwarted. Through his greatest friend – Ralph Morgan of the Morgan banking family – the marquess is secretly securing a loan for the French. Mr. Morgan believes the loan is for the English to purchase information from a French official.

"The money is to be ready tomorrow. It had been my hope to have you win the money from Mr. Morgan to keep the French from getting it."

Anna's eyes widened. "That, sir, is a horse of a different color."

He nodded with satisfaction. "It was your mother's desire that you become thoroughly English. Are you telling me you consider yourself an English patriot?"

"Can you doubt it?" Anna challenged.

A smug smile curved his lip. "How far would you go to prove your loyalty?" He got up and paced the floor. As much as he hated the thought, Sir Henry knew what he was about to propose would cost him the twenty-five thousand pounds for which he so keenly hungered. But if this new plan came to fruition, Anna could be his goose who continued to lay golden eggs.

"Could you marry for the love of your country?" he asked.

Her brows shot up. "What do you mean?"

"Marry Lord Haverstock. Become a spy for England. Get close to him. Learn his secrets. Pass them to us."

Anna laughed. "I assure you, Lord Haverstock would rather swing from the gallows than marry me."

"You underestimate your own charms, Anna." Sir Henry came back and sat next to her. "Consider this. Say you played cards with Mr. Morgan before he can get the money to his friend. You win the fifty-thousand pounds Haverstock borrowed. Haverstock could fear for his neck since he has no personal fortune from which to replenish the money. I am persuaded you could wrangle a marriage proposal from him in exchange for giving him back the money.

"But then the money would go to the French!"

Sir Henry's eyes sparkled. "Yes, but the English would have you in Haverstock's house. Think what you'd be able to learn as his wife! You could be a wealth of information to us." To himself, Sir Henry hoped she could learn the identity of Haverstock's contact in France. Napoleon would surely pay a hundred-thousand pounds to learn who the treacherous informant was. Any number of lucrative possibilities presented themselves to Sir Henry. He cocked his head and studied Anna, a smile twisting his lips. "Lady Haverstock. Think, Anna, how much your mother wanted you to be a lady."

Her eyes stared vacantly for a while. The very thought of becoming the wife of the horrid marquess repulsed her, leaving her with a deep melancholy, a futile longing for a mate to whom she could give her heart. If she went along with Sir Henry's plan she would have to bury her hopes for a loving husband. She would have to welcome to her bed the son of the rotund Lord Haverstock. The son was most likely as disgusting as the father. The thought made her cringe.