A Change of Fortune (30 page)

“He was alighting from his carriage outside the house. He saw Stella drive past in a carriage with two strangers, and then he saw Leonie Conyngham in a hackney—she was obviously going to meet her lover.”

“Obviously? How can it have been obvious?”

“Because she does have a lover. Oh, if you must know, Edward and Rupert have a wager of ten thousand guineas on which of them can seduce her first, and naturally they made it their business to find out all they could about her. That’s how they discovered that she has a lover, although they don’t know who he is. She’s been meeting him for some time, leaving the seminary after Stella has fallen asleep and then returning before she awakens, which is why Stella knows nothing about what’s going on.” She met his gaze without wavering as she told him such a monstrous lie.

For a long moment he didn’t reply. His eyes remained cold and his lips a thin line. “You knew all this and yet said nothing to me?” he asked softly at last.

She couldn’t meet his eyes then, looking quickly away, the color heightening on her cheeks.

He gave her a glance which verged on the contemptuous. “I thought not. You cannot even begin to justify your silence!”

“You’re being unfair and unreasonable!” she cried.

“
Unreasonable!”
He raised his voice incredulously, ignoring the astonished glances of several people nearby. “My niece, a child of only twelve, was out last night with complete strangers, while the woman who has charge of her apparently kept an assignation with a lover. You knew all this but chose to keep silent, and now
you
accuse
me
of being unfair and unreasonable!”

“How dare you speak to me like that! I
will
not be treated in such a way!”

He suddenly snatched up his hat and gloves. “I think I’d better go before either of us says something we might later regret.”

She stared after him. “Guy!”

He didn’t reply or look back. The doorbell tinkled loudly in the silence long after he’d vanished among the crowds of Bond Street.

* * *

He returned to Berkeley Street. He’d considered going straight to the seminary to face both Stella and Leonie, but he knew he was too angry. It was better to wait awhile, until his temper cooled. But as he entered the vestibule of his house, he was informed that Leonie was waiting in the drawing room upstairs. His face darkened and he glanced toward the staircase.

The butler looked uncertainly at him. “She said she had something of importance to tell you concerning Miss Stella, Sir Guy, and so I took the liberty of bidding her wait until your return. Did I do wrong?”

“Wrong?” Guy glanced at him, shaking his head. “No, it’s all perfectly in order. I’ll go to speak with her now.”

He went up the stairs without once having glanced at Imogen’s portrait.

The drawing room was furnished in the Grecian style, with wallpaper striped in shades of pale blue and all the woodwork painted white. There were golden velvet curtains with blue cords and tassels, and Grecian chairs and sofas with golden upholstery. It was a light, elegant room, very large and spacious, and Leonie looked very small seated on a chair close to the white marble fireplace.

She rose quickly to her feet as he entered, and the smile of greeting died on her lips as she saw the dark anger burning; in his eyes. “Sir Guy? Is something wrong?”

“Yes, madam, I rather think it is. What have you come to tell me? That you’ve just remembered that you did slip out last night after all? Oh, and maybe my niece did as well? Perhaps it all escaped your memory last night when I spoke to you.”

She stared at him, the color draining from her face. “How did you find out?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Was it Lord Edward Longhurst?”

“It doesn’t matter
how
I know, madam, it matters only that I do. Where are the tears today, Miss Conyngham? Surely you can squeeze a few for my benefit!”

She stiffened then. “I see no point in replying, sir, since I’m obviously accused, tried, and condemned already.”

“Might I remind you that I asked you for the truth last night, and you chose to lie to me. I don’t like being made a fool of, Miss Conyngham.”

“I didn’t make a fool of you, nor did I lie, I simply omitted to tell the whole truth.”

“How gracious of you,” he replied sarcastically, “but I’m afraid that in my book you lied, and I find that quite unforgivable.” He paused, his dark eyes sweeping scornfully over her. “Well, aren’t you going to eloquently protest your innocence once more?”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, sir.”

“Oh, forgive me,” he said acidly, bowing a little, “but I’m afraid that my fury is rather getting the better of my politeness.”

She raised her chin defiantly. “Do you want to know exactly what happened last night? Or do you merely wish to condemn me unheard?”

He met her eyes for a moment and then nodded. “Very well, tell me.”

She told him everything, except the truth about Imogen’s visit. She left nothing else out, not even the humiliating wager which had been made on her virtue, and when she had finished she looked challengingly at him. “That is what happened last night, Sir Guy, and the only reason I did not admit it then was that I knew that Stella had at last accepted what she must do. She learned a dreadful lesson at the fair and realized that no matter what, she wanted to go home to you. I protected her in order to avoid exactly what has happened now. Answer me one thing, sir; had you not learned the truth, what would your feelings be now on being told that Stella had at last given the promise you’ve sought?”

He didn’t reply.

“Have you nothing to say, sir? Maybe you don’t really want her to come home after all, no matter how nobly you’ve protested in the past!”

“Damn you!” he cried then. “You
know
I
want her home!”

“Do I? Why am
I
expected to take your word for granted, while
you
choose to believe what you will as the mood takes you? I omitted to tell you the truth last night because I hold you in very high regard and because I love your niece. I wanted to assist in bringing you both together again, and I honestly believed that that was the best way of achieving that end. All would have been well, had someone not chosen to whisper in your ear. I think it best if I leave now.” She began to walk past him, but he suddenly caught her arm.

“Please, don’t go.”

“I will not stay to be further accused of lies and deceit, sir.”

“There will not be any, for I know the truth when I hear it. If you’d told me last night, I’d have known it then. How can I be expected to believe you when you don’t trust me? Look at me, Leonie.”

Slowly she turned to face him. The fact that his eyes had softened and he used her first name did not release her from the pain he had yet again inflicted. She was cool, concealing the hurt she felt inside. “You know the truth now, sir, and you know that Stella has at last given the solemn promise you so desperately sought. What happens next is entirely up to you, isn’t it?”

He looked deep into her eyes and slowly his hand fell away from her.

She swallowed, close to tears suddenly and determined that he should not realize the fact. “What do you wish me to tell Stella?” she asked.

He turned away. “I wish to be reconciled with her before I leave for Poyntons, and so I will come for her in the morning.”

“Very well. Good afternoon, sir.”

“Good afternoon.”

He watched from the window as she hurried away from the house, her head bowed. He waited until she was out of sight and then turned to ring for the butler.

The man came running. “Sir Guy?”

“I’m going out. If anyone calls, tell them I do not know when I will be back.”

“Yes, Sir Guy.”

* * *

Edward was alone in his box at the crowded theater. The box was in shadow, and in the whole auditorium only those close to the brightly lit stage could be seen clearly. He lounged back in his chair, gazing at the players without really seeing them. He was thinking of what had happened at White’s, where the atmosphere was already extremely unsociable. He trusted that he could play his cards cleverly enough to eliminate the hostility and turn it instead toward Thornbury, but it would require extremely delicate handling, that was for sure.

He didn’t hear someone enter the box behind him; he knew nothing at all until someone suddenly wrenched him out of his chair and flung him roughly against the beautiful gilded plasterwork of the wall at the back of the box, where the shadows were darkest. Almost choking from the tight grip upon the knot of his cravat, Edward found himself staring in amazement into Guy’s cold, angry eyes. “De Lacey!” he squeaked. “Good God above, have you taken leave of your senses? Unhand me!”

“When I’m ready, my fine lordling,” breathed Guy. “I haven’t taken leave of my senses, but I promise you this, if you make one more move toward Leonie Conyngham, or say one more word against her, then I will believe you to have taken leave of yours.”

Edward’s eyes were like saucers. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said quickly.

Guy’s fist tightened on the cravat, almost stopping the other’s breath. “Don’t you? Then let me refresh your memory. I’m referring to your wager with Thornbury concerning the lady’s virtue, and I’m here to warn you both to stay away from her or you will regret it.”

Edward struggled to wrench himself free. “Dammit, de Lacey, it’s my sister you’re marrying, not the schoolteacher, and—” He got no further because Guy almost lifted him from his feet by the knot.

“I tolerate you, Longhurst, no more and no less, and if you’re foolish enough or vain enough to disregard this warning, then so help me I’ll nail your foul hide so close to the damned wall that they’ll never prize you free again. Do I make myself quite clear?”

Edward’s eyes goggled and he nodded. “Yes! Yes! For God’s sake, de Lacey, let me go!”

Guy flung him disdainfully aside. “Don’t forget it,” he said softly, gazing down with utter contempt as the other lay winded where he’d fallen.

Edward rubbed his bruised throat, closing his eyes with relief as Guy left the box. At that very moment the play ended, and rapturous applause broke out.

* * *

After being so summarily left by Guy, Imogen had returned to Longhurst House, where she waited, confident that soon Guy would call upon her to make amends. But time went by, darkness fell, and still there was no sign of him.

At ten o’clock she heard someone at the front door. Quickly she rubbed her eyes to redden them, and then she lay gracefully back on the chaise longue, her pale pink skirts carefully arranged to spill beautifully to the floor. A lace handkerchief was held delicately in one slender hand, and she presented a picture of gently reproachful melancholy. But the careful preparation was in vain, for it wasn’t Guy who was announced, it was Miss Hart.

Irritation flickered over Imogen’s face and she sat up again. What on earth was that wretched woman calling at this time of night for?

Miss Hart bustled agitatedly in, the hem of her taffeta skirt damp from the snow. “Oh, Lady Imogen, I’m so relieved to find you at home.”

“Whatever is it, Miss Hart?”

“It’s Miss de Lacey.”

The blue eyes narrowed. “What about her?”

“She’s leaving the seminary first thing tomorrow morning to return to Sir Guy. She’s packing at this very moment. Oh, Lady Imogen, I did my very best to see that she remained at the seminary, I sent no favorable or even vaguely encouraging reports, but Sir Guy has been taking Miss Conyngham’s advice.
She
convinced him this afternoon that Miss de Lacey was now ready to go home.”

Imogen was staring in shocked incredulity. “This afternoon? Are you sure?” she demanded.

Miss Hart was taken aback at the sharpness in the other’s voice. “Why, yes, quite sure. I overheard her telling Miss de Lacey on her return.”

“Return? From where?”

The headmistress lowered her glance a little uneasily. “From Sir Guy’s house. She went to see him about Miss de Lacey.”

Imogen rose furiously to her feet. “You permitted that…that
creature
to call upon Sir Guy?”

“But what could I do?” protested Miss Hart. “Sir Guy had personally placed her in charge of his niece, and he wished to be informed of her progress.”

Imogen turned restlessly away. “Thank you for coming to see me, Miss Hart. I will not keep you.”

The headmistress was offended at being so abruptly and ungratefully dismissed. Gathering her damp skirts, she walked stiffly out.

As the door closed, Imogen commenced to pace agitatedly up and down, her silk skirts hissing over the floor. Things weren’t going at all as she wished, and if she wasn’t careful she’d find herself losing Guy to Leonie Conyngham! She halted suddenly, a gleam entering her blue eyes. Leonie didn’t yet have the upper hand, and she wasn’t going to be permitted to gain it. Guy couldn’t possibly be aware yet that news of his niece’s homecoming had reached Longhurst House, so there was time yet to mend the rift. He was about to receive a call from his penitent, transformed future bride, who was going to express her shame and remorse and beg him to send immediately for Stella. Yes, that was what must be done; she must appear to have suffered a change of heart
before
discovering that the girl was going home anyway.

She reached for the bell. Guy de Lacey was hers,
hers
, and she wasn’t going to surrender him.

* * *

Guy was in his library when Imogen was announced. She hesitated in the doorway, as if pathetically unsure of what her reception would be. She looked fragile and vulnerable, twisting her lace handkerchief anxiously in her hands. There were imploring tears in her magnificent eyes and her lips moved tremulously. “Guy?” she whispered. “Oh, Guy, I’m so very sorry, I didn’t mean to…to….” She allowed her voice to trail away.

He went quickly to her, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her on the lips.

She clung to him. “I’ve been so miserable because I know I’ve been wrong, but I thought I was doing it for the best, Guy, truly I did. I know now that Stella must come home, she should be back with you and not in the seminary, where I know she’s dreadfully unhappy. I feel so ashamed to think that I was responsible for her being sent there, but I
did
believe it was right at the time. You do know that, don’t you?”