Anita Mills (15 page)

“Must’ve been the fever if he said that. No. I am quite unexceptional, Captain, and you can take that from one who knows me best.”

“If you have restrained my brother’s wilder propensities for three weeks, Ellen, you have succeeded beyond what anyone else has done.”

“ ’Tis hard to be a rakehell when one is abed with a raging fever and miserable cough.” She smiled. “And, of course, I doubt the onion poultices were exactly inspiring either.”

“You know, Ellen, I did not think so at first, but I find I quite like the prospect of having you here. ’Twill be rather like getting a sister when one is old enough to enjoy one.”

“I cannot stay here. I am quite determined to earn my own bread.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” he dismissed flatly. “Trent is so plump in the pocket that he will not even note the expense, I assure you. Best let Alex take care of it.”

“I could be a governess, perhaps,” she mused aloud. “Perhaps you would know of someone with a position?”

He raised an incredulous eyebrow and shook his head. “No—and neither does Alex, I’ll wager. Lud, but could you not see the face of a matron if you arrived with a character from either of us?”

“Oh.”

“Just so. But here is Edward with the porridge, and by the looks of it, I shall most probably regret having ordered it.” He wrinkled his nose at the bowl set in front of him. “I fear it is as I remembered it.”

“You will not deter me by changing the subject, Captain.”

“ ’Twas not my intent. Speak with Alex if you would leave.”

It was useless to argue with either of the Deveraux brothers, she decided, when she did not even have a plan of her own. Resolutely, they fell to eating, and by the time they were done, the discussion had been dropped. As Edward began removing the covers, Gerald gave her an engaging smile.

“Well, my dear, are you ready to explore the barn?”

“I’d scarcely call it a barn, Captain Deveraux, when it looks more like a palace.”

“But then you have not lived in it all your life. Some of it is as cold and drafty as a stable, particularly when you get into the older parts. There are rooms that have been under holland covers for years because they are so difficult to heat. You’ll think that the early Deveraux must have been a hardy lot to have survived the winters.”

“Nonetheless, this house surpasses everything in my limited experience. I think it quite beautiful.”

He tucked her hand in his elbow and proceeded to give her a tour with the thoroughness of the director of the Elgin exhibit, stopping to point out pictures of this ancestor or that, and to repeat some of the moderately lurid tales of them. They walked through rooms that had been occupied as far back as the sixteenth century, when the early Deveraux had had the foresight to side with the Lancastrians in the waning days of the Wars of the Roses and been rewarded by Henry VII with confiscated Yorkist lands. To Ellen, it was fascinating.

“You really ought to talk to Trent about the house, of course,” Gerry told her, “for he is the scholar in the family when it comes to history. Before he was sent down from Oxford, he was an excellent student.”

“Trent?”

“You seem surprised.”

“I
am
surprised. His more exciting exploits seem to have hidden or overshadowed his bookishness. Brockhaven told me only that he was a notorious rake and a high-tempered duelist, but somehow he forgot to mention he was a scholar.”

“Oh, make no mistake, Ellen. Alex is everything you have heard of him, good
and
bad, but if I ever had to put all my faith in anyone, I should choose him above all others.”

“And what of yourself, sir? Do you admit to being a scholar too?”

“Well, I am not so well-versed in history or the classics as Alex, but I do like Shakespeare and poetry. Between us, I am probably the more romantic one.” He stopped to open the door to a spacious music room large enough to accommodate guests for a musicale.

Her face lit up almost immediately when she saw the highly polished pianoforte, and she could not resist taking a seat before the keyboard and fingering it lightly.

“My mother’s,” he told her. “She was quite accomplished, I think, and I can remember her playing when I was quite small.”

She tested a note or two tentatively. “It seems well-tuned.”

“It is. We use it for parties when Alex is in residence, particularly for the area gentry at Christmastide. We usually bring a musician from London to play it.”

She cocked her head absently and began picking at the keyboard until she got the feel of it, and then she fingered a melody with her long fingers until she was ready to launch into a fast-tempoed country song. After several minutes, she changed to a soft, lilting melody of surpassing and haunting beauty.

Alex was coming down the stairs when he heard it, and he stopped to listen to the sweetness and clarity of the song. Following the sound to his music room, he stood in the doorway and applauded when she finished.

“Bravo, my dear!” He came into the room and stood behind her, smiling his approval. “I thought you were funning when you said you played rather well, but I have paid to hear far worse.”

“Oh, Alex, do you think I could earn my living with my playing?”

“No, I do not.” The smile had left his face and he was frowning. “It is out of the question, Ellie. I do not mind if you play here, but you will not appear publicly as a musician.”

“That is not for you to say, my lord,” she reminded him. “It is for me to decide how I am to live.”

“I will not have it said that I abandoned you to the boards,” he snapped before he abruptly started to walk out.

“I would rather have it said that I earn my money honestly than have it said I am your mistress when it becomes known that I have been living here,” she flung after him.

He stopped but did not turn around. “There is no question of your doing either, Ellie. I have given it out that you are our cousin from France, but you have been in school in England. Since your parents are both dead, you have come to live with us.”

“But I cannot live here forever.”

“It is the only way I can keep you safe from Brockhaven.”

“I have to earn my way, Alex.”

“You saved my life, Ellen, and that is sufficient.”

“But it isn’t!”

“Practice your piano, my dear, and I will talk to him,” Gerald told her before he left to catch up with his brother. “Alex!”

Trent waited. “Back off, Gerry. This is not your affair.”

“Careful, Alex. You sound like a damned tyrant.”

“I thought I told you I’d tolerate no flirtation, Gerry.”

“Flirtation? Dammit, I like her!”

“Let me remind you, brother, that there is Brockhaven, an impediment even in these lax times.”

“Is that the way you see all females?”

“Gerry, I am your brother,” Trent managed evenly, “and I know you are no better than I am when it comes to the fairer sex. You are not to prey on her foolish desire for an independence that she cannot maintain. It is incumbent on both of us to see that she does nothing indiscreet until we can think what is ultimately to be done. Had Augusta Sandbridge been at home, she could have given it out that Ellen had been with her these past weeks, but she was not. I have not yet determined how to save her from the scandal, but I do know one thing: until I can get her out of this mess, she must not be allowed to even think of leaving to earn her bread.”

“ ’Tis mad, Alex! What about Crawfurd? Or Timms? Or Dobbs?”

“They all fairly worship her, they’ll not give her away.”

“I don’t know, Alex.”

“Neither do I, but I cannot get a decent night’s sleep for thinking about it. I have to leave—there’ll be less talk if I am gone. And I should think you’ll be getting back to your regiment soon. ’Twill not be so remarked when she is but here with the servants.”

“Actually, I have been thinking of selling out, been thinking of it for some time now.”

“Since this morning?” Trent asked sarcastically.

“No, since the last time you had to flee the country and I had to look after the Meadows.”

Alex stared hard at Gerald and then shrugged. “You will do what you want to do, of course. Do not let us be quarreling over the girl, Gerry. You look after things and I will be back for Christmas.”

“That’s almost two months away.”

“I can use the time to think. Besides, the Mantini is still in London and I do not know if I am through in that quarter or not.” He hesitated and then shook his head. “But while I am gone, Gerry, I expect you to keep your amatory instincts in check where Ellen is concerned.”

“D
EAR
L
ADY
L
EFFINGWELL
,” Lord Brockhaven teased, “if I did not know how the other ladies looked forward to our rides in the park, I would suspect you arranged other engagements for them.”

Lavinia colored guiltily, as that was exactly what she had done. After three successive mornings of driving in the park with his lordship, she had found Gussie and Nora reluctant to accompany them again. Propriety required that she demur also, but she managed to invent an important errand. And when Augusta had been on the verge of capitulating and accompanying her, Vinnie had lied and said she was taking a maid.

“La, Sir Basil, how can you say such a thing?” she tittered as she fanned herself nervously in spite of the cold weather.

“Well, it is not a bad idea, anyway,” he admitted generously as he waved to a gentleman wrapped up in a passing carriage. As they neared, the other driver reined in, and a middle-aged man leaned out the window to inquire of Ellen.

“Ah, Rockingham—howdedo! Ellen? Not much better, I am afraid. The doctors are beginning to despair of a cure. May I present one of her relatives, Lady Leffingwell?” After the appropriate nods, the gentleman signaled his driver to go on, and Brockhaven turned to Vinnie, “You’d think they’d forget to ask, wouldn’t you? It’s a deuced nuisance keeping up with the questions.”

“You poor man,” she clucked sympathetically. “It is beyond me how the ungrateful girl could have behaved so shabbily to you.”

“Aye. And I am a flesh and blood man, I need a wife.”

“I understand perfectly, Sir Basil, but you must proceed with caution. Once the story has died down, you can get an annulment on the grounds that her health is bad.”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” Brockhaven owned thoughtfully. “I suppose I could say that I did not think her health sufficiently good for childbearing, couldn’t I? Hmmmmm …” Abruptly, he reached to pat Lavinia’s hand. “And how old are you, my dear?”

“A gentleman never asks a lady her age,” she simpered.

“But you ain’t above forty, are you?”

“La, but I shall never tell.”

“But you ain’t?”

“No, not quite.”

“Good.”

In spite of the cold, Lavinia had to own that the rest of the drive went rather well. Sir Basil bent himself to be all that was accommodating and polite, and she was pleased with the attention. Since Sir Lawrence’s death, she had lived at Greenfield almost as a recluse, emerging only when it was necessary to support dear Augusta through something, and now she was restive with yearning to return to a more active life.

Mrs. Marling was standing at the window when they returned. She could not help her lack of manners—she had to stare when Sir Basil clambered out and assisted Vinnie down. While Vinnie was quite colorless, the baron was quite something else.

“Augusta, will you look at that?” She held back the curtain for her sister-in-law.

Augusta looked out and had to suppress a chuckle. “Looks like a fat robin. Really, Eleanor, would you tell me why a man of Sir Basil’s proportions would be seen wearing a light suit with a red waistcoat, especially a suit so tight that he cannot possibly breathe in it?”

“Lavinia does not seem to notice.”

“No, she doesn’t, does she?” Augusta agreed.

“I thought I should have died of mortification yesterday”—Eleanor shuddered at the memory—“when he arrived to take us out in a puce suit with yellow stockings.”

“He has no taste.”

The object of their amusement was already reentering his carriage, blissfully unaware of their comments on his sartorial splendor. He settled back into his seat and placed his fingertips together over his well-rounded belly while he mulled a new and intriguing prospect. He was still engrossed with the idea when he alit at his home and mounted the steps to his town house.

A man darted out and touched his coat sleeve. Unused to being accosted by members of an inferior class, Brockhaven raised his cane to show the fellow a thing or two.

“Now, guv’nor, ye don’t ’it Leach,” the man told him with an injured look. “Yer missin’ yer lady, ain’t yer? ’Appen I know where ’er is.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Brockhaven told him stiffly, and pushed past.

“Pretty thing ’er is—dark ’air, big eyes—got an aunt in York—”

“Get out of here!”

The man shrugged. “ ’Ave it yer way, guv’nor. Mebbe there’s others t’listen t’ Leach.”

“Wait!” Sir Basil’s mouth was dry as he glanced furtively up and down the street. “What do you want?”

“Ter restore yer lady ter yer.” He doffed his hat with a wicked grin and added, “Fer a price.”

“I see.” The street appeared deserted as Brockhaven made up his. mind. “Come ’round to the back and I’ll have someone let you in.”

“Thought yer would.”

Later, in the safety and privacy of his library, Lord Brockhaven listened to Leach’s strange story. He paced restlessly while the driver watched from the comfort of one of his chairs.

“But Lady Sandbridge is here. My wife cannot have gone there.”

“Thet I don’t know fer a fact, guv’nor, but I do know ’er was with milord, Trent. Mebbe ’e took ’er ’ome wi’ ’im.”

“Trent? You are mistaken—he would not want a woman like her.”

“They looked friendly enough ter me.”

“No, not Ellen.”

“Thet so? ’E discharged me fer talkin’ ’bout ’er.”

“I do not even know Lord Trent’s direction.”

“I do. Yer fergit—I was ’ired t’ work fer ’im.”

Brockhaven closed his eyes and pictured Ellen—her slender young body, those purple eyes, that youth. Trent! That could be unpleasant, but not even Trent would dare to cut up a dust over another man’s wife. Besides, even if the story were true, he would probably have tired of the girl by now. If rumor could be believed, he’d not been constant to anyone above two or three weeks, anyway.

“How much do you want?”

“Five ’undred pounds.”

“Ridiculous!”

“I can allus tell ’er family.”

“Three hundred—payable when she is returned. After all,” his lordship reminded the driver peevishly, “I do not even know you are telling the truth.”

“Five ’undred, guv’nor, when ’er comes ’ome.”

“Oh, very well,” Brockhaven capitulated finally, and then set about formulating a plan whereby Leach and another man were to meet him the next morning and set out for Trent’s country home first and then go on to Augusta Sandbridge’s estate in York if Ellen proved not to be with Trent.

“Yer can trust Leach,” the driver promised confidently, and took his leave.

Brockhaven poured himself a good-sized drink and sat down before the fire to mull over this strange turn of events. The Marquess of Trent! Unthinkable! And yet there had been the ring of truth in the strange little man’s story. A slow smile crept over the baron’s jowled face. Well, if it proved to be true, he bet the chit knew a thing or two now.

Committed to taking Mrs. Marling, Lady Sandbridge, and Lady Leffingwell to the theater for the evening, he considered sending around a note of cancellation and then thought better of it. After all, if he were successful in retrieving Ellen, he would still need the good offices of those ladies to pull it off without a scandal. No, it was best to keep the engagement. But to think he had been contemplating offering for the Leffingwell woman! He must have been on the verge of insanity. She might still be young enough to provide him with an heir, but she certainly could not compare with a young woman.

Later, while dressing with his usual care, he hummed happily at the thought of having Ellen back. This time, he would not have to bother with the subtleties; he’d bet that Trent had already taken care of that, and the girl would know how to please a man now. A thought stilled him momentarily: what if she were increasing? He’d have no bastard Brockhavens—never! Well, he could wait to see on that one. He began to hum again as he tied his starched neckcloth under his full chin. He glanced in the mirror and ripped off the offending piece of linen with an oath, cursing the day that stocks went out. His valet stepped forward with a fresh cloth and draped it around his lordship’s neck, twisting it deftly into the Oriental, a style that Brockhaven himself never cared for—too plain by half. The baron stood to shrug himself into his lavender swallow-tailed coat, a creation that had even given his tailor pause, for it was lined in a purple-and-green-striped nankeen that matched his trousers. To set it all off, he wore a green silk waistcoat. When he left his house, he was certain he would impress the ladies.

It seemed to him that his choice had been perfect, for when he led the three women into his box, Lavinia, herself attired in bright parrot-green satin with dyed-to-match ostrich feathers in her hair, was on his arm. He noted with satisfaction that all heads turned to watch them. Behind them, Augusta Sandbridge and Eleanor Marling trailed as far as was polite in their rather subdued silk Empire gowns. To acknowledge what he was certain was the admiration of those around him, Brockhaven bowed smugly to the occupants of the boxes around his.

He was in high spirits at the thought of reclaiming his young wife, and he set about to entertain Vinnie with the latest gossip before the candles were doused and the curtain rung up. He put his glass to his eye and worked through the crowd looking for interesting pairings.

“There’s Rockingham”—he pointed—“with Lady Marlow.” Catching sight of the earl, he waved brightly before moving on with his glass. “And over there is Mrs. Farmington—Moreland’s mistress, you know.”

But Lavinia’s attention was already caught by the people in the box directly opposite them. She tugged at the baron’s sleeve to gain his attention. “But is that not Madame Mantini over there? And, good heavens! Who is that arresting man with her?”

“Eh?” He strained to follow her direction and saw the raven-haired beauty pouting next to the marquess. “ ’Tis the Mantini—and Trent!”

“La—is that the Marquess of Trent? My, ’tis no wonder he is so remarked.” She turned her pale eyes back to the baron to observe, “But he dresses rather plainly for a marquess, don’t you think?”

Brockhaven seemed frozen in his seat as he stared across the pit and tried to make sense of Trent’s presence in London. Either Leach was a complete liar or Trent had already abandoned Ellen somewhere. “Hmmmm?” he finally caught himself and acknowledged Lavinia’s insistent tugging.

“Are you quite all right, Sir Basil?”

“Yes, but I am surprised to see him here. I had thought him in the country.”

“You do not look at all well.”

“I am fine,” he muttered half to himself, “but I intend to pay his lordship a call at first intermission, you can be sure.”

His agitation was so great that he could not have repeated anything that occurred in the first act. He knew it would be risky speaking with Alexander Deveraux, given the man’s high temper, but Brockhaven meant to make the attempt in hopes of gleaning some information as to Ellen’s whereabouts. He’d paid enough for the chit that he did not intend to be cheated of his rights even by the likes of Trent. As soon as the candles were relit, he excused himself and made his way around to the other box.

“Your servant, my lord,” he told the marquess as he pushed his way into the closed area. “I would have a few words with you, sir—in private, if you please.”

Trent shrugged and nodded a curt dismissal to Sophia Mantini, who stood up, rustling the skirt of her red silk gown, and tried to hide her irritation. “I see Leonie, Alex, so I shall pay her a call.” She brushed past Brockhaven without a word and ignored his appraising stare.

“Egad, sir! The luck is all yours!”

Trent ignored him and adjusted the sleeves of his dark-blue coat over the snowy cuffs of his silk shirt with a detachment that the baron found disconcerting. Brockhaven stared at him in fascination, amazed that anyone dressed so plainly could make him feel so dowdy by comparison. It must be the man’s height, he decided. He cleared his throat to regain Trent’s attention, and tried to screw up his courage to ask about Ellen. Trent, for his part, leaned back in his chair and lifted his long legs up to rest his feet on the polished brass rail before clasping his hands over his flat stomach. His blue eyes were very cold and forbidding when at last he looked up at the baron from heavy lids.

“Well?”

A wiser man than Brockhaven would have heard the challenge in the icy voice and backed down, but the baron chose to interpret that single word as an invitation to sit. He dropped heavily into the chair beside the marquess and mopped his sweaty brow. After taking a furtive look around them, he leaned closer.

“An interesting story came my way today, my lord,” he began.

“I never listen to interesting stories, Brockhaven, for I find they are usually incorrect and therefore a waste of my time.” Trent turned his head slightly to his unwanted guest. “But you may go on, if you find it necessary.”

The baron again wiped his wet forehead and licked his dry lips. “There was a man by the name of Leach who came to my house today, sir.” He waited impatiently for a reaction and got none. “He said you had my wife.” There was not even a flicker of interest as Trent sat there with a bored expression still on his arrogantly handsome face. Finally, Brockhaven could stand it no longer and blurted out, “Well, do you?”

The marquess raised a black eyebrow. “You have lost your wife, Brockhaven? How careless of you. I never favored having one myself, but I doubt I should misplace her if I did.” His whole body was a study of indifference, as he added casually, “But do go on. What else did—I am sorry, I am afraid I did not get the name—but what else did this person allege?”

“Leach. He said you was taking my wife to her Aunt Sandbridge.”

“But I seem to be here, Sir Basil, and if I am not mistaken, that is Augusta Sandbridge in
your
box. I would suggest you approach her before you come to me with the tale.” Trent swung his legs down and straightened up. He vaguely indicated another box with a sweep of his hand, and the light caught the ring on his little finger. “If you are quite finished, sir, I believe I see Brummel over there—ah, yes—and Prinny, too. I believe I’ll pay a call.”