A Regency Charade (25 page)

“Nothing at all, ma’am,” he replied coldly. “Shall we go down?”

“
Nothing
? You look as angry as if you’d been cheated of your last shilling.”

“And you, ma’am, look as merry as if
you’d done the cheating
! You seem to have made a remarkable recovery from your doldrums of last evening,” he said, his voice exuding sarcasm.

She looked up at him bewilderedly. “I sense some sort of accusation underneath those words. Have
I
done something to anger you?”

“Not at all. As I have told you several times, your behavior is of no interest to me. Of course, I
did
think that while we were engaged in this charade for my grandfather’s benefit, you would exercise some
discretion
. A mere fortnight did not seem to me to be too long a time in which to expect you to refrain from … But never mind. It makes very little difference, after all.”

“Alec, I haven’t the slightest notion of what you’re
talking
about! Have I been indiscreet about something?”

“Well, if
I’ve
discovered his presence here, it is possible that others—”

“
Whose
presence? Alec, will you stop speaking in riddles and tell me what is on your mind?”

He looked down at her with eyes burning with revulsion. “I
saw
him, you know. Almost ran over him on Cross Mill Road.”

“But
who
—?” Then a flash of understanding broke through her mind like a searing bolt of lightning. “Oh, my
God
! Not—?”

He smiled bitterly. “What a performer you are, my dear. You’d make a worthy successor to Siddons. Yes, you’re quite right. Your
friend
, Sir Blake Edmonds, rode right into my path.”

“But … what is he doing
here
!” she asked, bemused.

He gave a short laugh. “I admit to being a fool, my dear, but don’t take me for such a flat as that! He was very quick, I assure you, in his attempt to put me off. Said he and his wife were visiting her cousins, or some such story.”

Priss’s brow cleared in relief. “But of
course
that’s it. The Beardsleys of Wirksworth. Her
maiden
name was Beardsley. I’d forgotten that.”

“How very convenient,” he remarked drily.

“What do you mean by
that
?” she asked, whitening. “You don’t think he came here to see
me
, do you?”

“To see you?” His lips twisted into an ugly sneer. “Now,
how
could I entertain so wild a thought? It is mere
coincidence
, of course, that he had chosen this very fortnight to travel up from London. And mere coincidence that he had never before seen fit to oblige his wife to accompany her on a visit to her family. And mere coincidence, too, I suppose, that you have been disappearing from our midst every afternoon—”

“
Alec
!” she cried as if he’d struck her. “You
can’t
believe such a thing of me!”

“No, of course I can’t. You’ve been spending all your afternoons visiting your
mother
, haven’t you?”

Frozen, she stared at him for a long moment. “You
are
a dastard!” she said, beginning to shake from head to foot. She turned, stumbled to the bed and sank down on it. “You’d better go. They will be wondering, downstairs …”

“There’s no reason for a display of vapors, ma’am. If
I
can continue with this pretense, there’s no reason why you can’t.”

“I … I’ll continue with it,” she said quietly, not looking at him, “but not tonight. I’m not … Please, make my excuses. Say I have the headache. Say anything you like, but just … go.”

Without another word he left the room. For a long while she sat where she was, looking at the hands clenched in her lap. If she unclenched them, she knew they would tremble pathetically, and she would see the trembling and feel sorry for herself and begin to cry. And she didn’t want to cry over him any more. Besides, a session of weeping always left her feeling exhausted and drained and didn’t do a jot of good. So she kept her hands clenched and her back straight and didn’t permit herself to slide limply to the floor and curl up in a little ball, which was another thing she had a yearning to do.

Her emotions were in a temporary state of shock, and therefore she was somewhat buffered from the pain she knew was bound to come later. But her mind was not benumbed—it was racing about, stirring up a whirl of questions and answers, accusations and defenses, schemes for revenge and abortive plots to salvage the rapidly crumbling framework of her dreams for the future. First her thoughts centered on the horrifying coincidence that had brought Blake into the vicinity. What a talent the blasted fellow had for turning up at the worst possible time! He was truly becoming the bane of her existence.

But on second thought, it was grossly unfair to blame Blake. He was—no matter what Alec believed—completely innocent, this time, of any intention to bother her. He was merely obliging his wife by coming to Derbyshire to visit her family. It was not
his
fault that Alec had come across him and had leaped to his disgusting conclusion!

When all was said and done, the entire blame had to be laid at Alec’s door. It was his warped imagination that had devised this newest accusation. Whatever had happened, Priss wondered, her throat burning with unshed tears, to have changed the honest, clear-eyed, sweet-natured boy she’d once known into this bitter, suspicious, cynical and cruel man? No longer was she so foolish and lacking in self-esteem that she could believe
herself
responsible for this change in him. No, he had done this to
himself
, and only he was to blame for the wreckage he was making of his life. She could almost pity him.

But he was destroying
her
life, too, and for that reason she could feel no pity. How
dared
he deal so violently with her future! How dared he make assumptions about her character on the basis of the flimsiest of circumstantial evidence! Had he seen nothing in her behavior, her words, her appearance, her way of life to make him question the soundness of his dastardly conclusions? Where were his eyes and ears? Where was his judgment?

He deserved to be horsewhipped! If only she had a brother who could call him out! If only there were someone who could speak for her character and act for her revenge. But there was no one. Her mother must never be told this horrid tale; and of course the Earl must never know. She had no one at all who could defend her and restore her sense of honor.

It was this feeling that her honor—the pride in her sense of herself—was being trampled in the muddied swamp of her husband’s imagination that undid her control. Her shoulders began to shake and her chest to heave in gasping breaths that were more like hiccoughs than sobs.
Stop this
, she ordered herself, sitting up more rigidly and clenching her fists more tightly.
You’re not going to give way
! But these hiccoughing gasps were more painful than tears, and after a while she slid down to the floor, let her head fall onto the bed and wept.

Kellam, who had been putting away Alec’s discarded clothing and setting the overcrowded dressing room to rights, hadn’t meant to overhear. When he first realized that he was eavesdropping on the most private of quarrels, he’d wanted desperately to steal from the room. But he was afraid they’d hear him, and
that
was certain to prove embarrassing to all concerned, so he stood rooted to the spot and waited for them to leave. But when it was over, her ladyship didn’t leave. She was there in the next room, crying her poor eyes out, and Kellam was at a loss as to what to do about it.

When five minutes had elapsed, and there was no sign of the sobs subsiding, Kellam opened the dressing room door and peered inside. Lady Braeburn was sitting on the floor, her head in her arms resting on the bed and her shoulders heaving pathetically. Without attempting to muffle his footsteps, he went back into the dressing room, poured a glass of water from a decanter on the dresser and returned to the bedroom. Kneeling down beside the lady, he said quietly, “’Ave a drink ’o water, m’lady. Do ye a world o’ good.”

She gave a stifled gurgle, caught her breath and looked up. “Wh-Who are y—? Oh, Alec’s m-man, aren’t you? G-Go away!”

“Yes, m’lady. Kellam’s the name. But I’d be no better ’n a whopstraw if I left ye ’ere bawlin’. Take a tiny sip, now, like a good little poppet. Ye ‘most bawled yerself dry!”

She gave a sniffling laugh and took the glass from him. When she’d finished and handed the glass back to him, she took a good look at him. “Did you … h-hear …?”

He nodded glumly. “I whiddled the ’ole scrap.”

“I assume I n-needn’t tell you, Kellam, that I would n-not like to have any of this repeated.”

“You c’n trust me, m’lady. I knows ’ow to keep me clapper still. Ask the Cap’n. Been together through the ’ole campaign, we ’ave.”

“Yes,” she said, blinking away the last of her tears and wiping her cheeks, “Alec told m-me about you. His batman, he said.”

“That’s ’oo I am. Seed ’im through good days an’ bad. I knows ’im better ’n most.” He sat cross-legged on the floor beside her. “I ’opes ye won’t think me too impudent, m’ lady, if I tells ye ’e didn’t mean it,” he said confidentially. “Crazy jealous ’e is, y’ know. ’As been fer years.”

“You
are
impudent, young man,” Priss declared, nevertheless looking the fellow over with interest. “Do you talk to his lordship in this sort of informal way?”

“Oh, we don’t stand on points, the Cap’n an’ me,” Kellam said, unabashed.

“Then
we
needn’t either, I suppose. What did you mean just now—when you said that ‘the Captain’ was ‘crazy jealous.’”

“We used t’ blab a good bit, y’know, durin’ those long nights. I recall as ’ow the name Blake Edmonds used t’ make ’im wild. And then, ’e’d dream … an’ mutter in ’is sleep about it. It’s a queer start, y’know, the way the ’ole business took ’old of ’im. ’E can’t let it go, y’know what I mean?”

“An obsession?” she asked curiously.

He nodded eagerly. “Aye, m’ lady. Ye’ve ’it it square on th’ noddle.”

“Well,” she sighed, “there isn’t anything to be gained by talking about it. Help me up, please, Kellam. I must say that you’re the strangest sort of valet I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s cause I ain’t no valet,” he said, jumping up and assisting her to rise. “Mr. Smoot, now—that’s Major Sellars’ man—
’e’s
a valet. I’m just a batman.”

“But worth your weight in gold, I would imagine,” Priss said with a small smile.

Kellam grinned at her. “As t’ that, m’ lady, I won’t pre-sume t’ say. But I’d not argue wiv ye, neither. Is there anything I c’n do fer yer ladyship afore I takes meself off?”

“No, nothing. But thank you, Kellam. You’ve made me feel somewhat better, I admit.”

The man nodded and walked to the dressing room door. But before he went through it, he paused. “Ye’ll try to forgive the Cap’n, won’t ye, m’ lady?” he asked hopefully.

“There’s not much point in my doing that, is there? Not while he’s in the grip of an obsession. Good evening, Kellam.”

“Good evenin’, m’ lady.”

“And, Kellam … you
will
keep all this a secret, won’t you?”

“Don’t ye go worryin’ yerself about that. Me lips is sealed.”

The second course had already been laid when Priss appeared in the dining room doorway. “I’m feeling so much better,” she announced cheerfully, “that I thought I’d join you for dinner after all.”

A chorus of voices welcomed her as she took her place, and although her eyes glittered more brightly than usual and her lips were somewhat more red and full, none of the diners seemed to notice anything out of the way. Alec got up and held her chair for her as she sat down, but she did not even glance in his direction. Her bout of sobs had done her some good, for once. That, and her little talk with Kellam, had cleared her head and strengthened her self-confidence. Never would she permit Alec to make her cry again! She was a woman of some sense and of unimpeachable morals, and no man in the world would ever again make her feel degraded! With this resolve, she had determined to go down to her guests and behave in exactly the manner she ought—confident and guiltless, with nothing to hide and nothing to prove!

A footman served her a slice of beef, and as she cut into it she smiled warmly at the assembled faces. “How are the plans for Saturday’s party progressing, Clio dear?” she asked.

“Quite well, I think,” Clio answered, tossing a quick look at Gar to see if he had taken note that it was
she
who had been made the organizer of the fortnight’s most important social event. But Gar was taking no notice of her at all. She turned back to Priss. “The room at the end of the gallery should serve for the dancing, I think, if you have no more than twenty couples on the floor.”

“I don’t think we’ll have more than that,” Priss assured her. Then, turning to Lady Vickers with a calculatedly casual smile, she added, “Speaking of invitations, Mama, you’ll never
guess
whom Alec ran into today.”

“Who was it, Alec?” Lady Vickers asked, puzzled.

“I … I don’t know,” Alec stammered awkwardly. “I mean … I must have forgotten.”

Priss laughed merrily. “Oh, you men are the most absent-minded creatures! He met Sir Blake Edmonds on the road today!”

The name meant nothing to most of the diners, but Lady Vickers started, choked on a bite of meat and eyed her daughter in sudden alarm. “Sir
Blake
—?” she echoed hesitantly.

“A family friend from London, you know,” Priss explained to the others blithely. “A
dear
old family friend, isn’t he, Alec? May I have your permission, Grandfather, to add his name—and that of his wife, of course—to our list of guests for Saturday?”

Alec colored and bit his lip. “I scarcely think …” he began, and then thought better of it.

But Lady Vickers was horrified. “I don’t think it necessary to invite them, my love. Not at all necessary.”

“But why not?” the Earl said effusively. “The more the merrier, eh? Put ’em down, by all means.”

“They aren’t really
close
friends, you know,” Lady Vickers persisted, glancing at her daughter in surprise and irritation. “We have only a nodding acquaintance. I see no reason to swell our ranks with mere—”