Anne Barbour (25 page)

Alison experienced a chill of apprehension at Lady Edith’s demeanor. Was it possible that, after all, March had convinced his aunt that her companion was not fit to reside in her house? Her fears were dispelled a moment later when Lady Edith turned and drew her into a gentle embrace.

“Oh, my dear,” said the old lady in a trembling voice, “I am so sorry to have brought such trouble upon you.”

“You?” gasped Alison in astonishment. “My lady, you have been my salvation!”

“Perhaps,” responded the old woman grimly, “but if it were not for me, my misguided nephew would never have discovered your existence.”

“And a very good thing he did.” Alison was pleased that her voice remained firm. “Otherwise I never would have cleared the record with Lord Marchford. At least now he has heard my side of the story.”

“Mpf. For all the good it has done him.” She sighed wearily. “March was always the most reasonable of men—I have never known him to be so intractable.”

“I suppose ...” began Alison hesitantly. “I suppose he was still very angry.”

Lady Edith smiled sourly. “You could say that. Then, when I ruined the grand climax of his plan by telling him that I Knew All, he was like a bear with a thorn in his toe.” The smile faded. “I had so hoped he would believe you.”

“I did, too,” said Alison, “but I might have known better.” Her throat tightened again, and Lady Edith, observing the tears glittering in Alison’s eyes, placed a hand on her arm.

“There, there, my dear. It is over now. Perhaps when March has cooled down—when he has considered all that he has learned ... It is not easy to have one’s dearly held convictions turned upside down in the span of a few hours. Given time, I am sure he will come to his senses.”

Alison drew a deep breath, then put her hand over the one that lay on her arm. “Well,” she said briskly, “none of it really matters, does it? Your nephew is no doubt a—a fine man, but he means nothing to me, after all. As long as I am still in your good graces, all is well with the world.” She affixed a bright smile to her lips and drew her employer from her chair. “I heard the postman’s whistle a few moments ago. I should imagine he has brought us a clutch of acceptances for your dinner party. Shall we go see?”

Lady Edith eyed the young woman shrewdly, but said nothing, merely allowing herself to be escorted downstairs with good grace.

Chapter 19

Alison had managed to hold her anguish at bay for most of the afternoon, but now, as she faced the earl once more, it washed over her in such crushing waves that she thought she must sink to the floor under the weight of it.

It was perhaps fortunate that Meg still lingered in her room, for on his arrival, March had sought an audience with Lady Edith and Alison. In halting phrases, he spoke of his regret over the misunderstanding which had caused him to pursue Alison with such single-minded fury. His apology for having placed her in an untenable position with Jack Crawford was undoubtedly heartfelt, and Alison had no difficulty in accepting his assertions of future goodwill.

She should have been ecstatic. She was free now. Free of the threat of vengeance that had hung over her for so long, and free of Jack’s importunities. Certainly, Lady Edith had experienced no difficulty in accepting March’s apology.

“Nonsense, my dear boy,” said the old lady, her eyes shining in relief and happiness. “I have already told you that your anger was completely understandable—and I’m sure Alison feels the same way. After all”—she shot a glance at Alison— “if the naughty girl had gone to you at the very beginning, all this—unpleasantness might have been avoided.” Alison bent her head stiffly in a nod of agreement. “There,” continued Lady Edith joyfully. “We need not thrash it over anymore, then, for we are all friends again.”

But there was so much more, cried Alison silently. She stared at the man seated before her in Lady Edith’s drawing room. Had it really been only a fortnight since she had faced him for the first time, telling herself that he was a perfectly ordinary man? Even then, she had been drawn into those golden eyes. She loved him. He was no doubt the only man she would ever love, yet last night she had listened as he expressed his complete indifference to what was to become of her. And, in his disgust of her, he had made a contemptible proposal,

“Will you pour us some wine, March?” Lady Edith spoke in the high, pleased voice of a little girl. “I think we have something to celebrate.” She stopped, gazing questioningly at her nephew.

March’s eyes had not left Alison for some moments, but now he looked at Lady Edith.

“Aunt,” he said softly, “may I be private with Miss Fox for a few moments? There is still something I must say to her.”

Lady Edith’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear. I don’t...” She shot a glance at Alison, who hesitated before nodding once more in acquiescence. “Very well. But don’t be long. Meg will be coming down soon, and ...” She did not finish the sentence, but left the room with a single backward look and closed the door quietly behind her.

“Please,” said March. “Sit down.”

Alison, who had risen with Lady Edith, dropped back into her chair, her body rigid. March seated himself nearby, but rose almost immediately to pace the carpet before her. After a moment, he turned to face her. He looked, thought Alison, as though he had not slept well. Sharp lines were drawn along his cheeks and the square jaw that had so caught her attention was tense and rigid.

“I’m a little at a loss as to how to proceed,” he said, smiling uncertainly, “for I am about to ask you to forgive me for the unforgivable.”

Alison stiffened and drew about her the cloak of indifference she was beginning to discover was the best defense against the pain of her feelings for the earl. She lifted her brows and said nothing.

March began again. “First of all, let me say again that I am truly sorry for the anguish I have put you through for the past four years.”

Alison answered coolly. (Really, she thought, pleased, she was getting very good at this.) “My lord, if all that you suspected of me had been true, you had every right to be angry.”

“But to pursue you with such rage, to vow vengeance against you—”

“I am sure it was understandable under the circumstances,” she replied hastily. Dear Lord, why could he just not leave it be? “If I suspected you of driving someone I loved to his or her death, I might have reacted in the same fashion.”

“Perhaps, but I doubt it, for you lack my single-minded vindictiveness.” The irony in his tone was plain, and Alison was in no danger of mistaking his meaning. “In addition, you do not know quite all of it. You see, I did not plan to divulge your identity to my aunt. Oh no,” he continued sourly, observing the surprise in her eyes, “my original plan was to see you revealed before that crowd of lovelies last night as a card cheat. There were enough ‘gentlemen’ in the room so that I was sure the tale would reach Aunt Edith’s ears in a matter of hours.”

The torment in March’s gaze sparked a corresponding ache within her breast. “Yes, my hatred burned that strongly. Yet, I had come to consider you my friend. I know in my heart you were not the harpy I had thought you, and when I saw you, standing alone and defenseless among that scum, I could not allow you to be so demeaned.”

Alison leaned forward. “Tell me something, my lord. If you had not come to know me, would you still have abandoned me to my fate at the High Flyer?”

The air about them seem to change imperceptibly, as though me atmosphere had become charged with electricity. The intensity of March’s gaze was almost unbearable.

“At this point,” he answered slowly, “I like to think that I would not, but I don’t know. I just... don’t know.”

Alison sat back, distantly pleased at his honesty. He had called her “friend.” Friendship—with March? Oh yes, she remembered. Once she had thought she could be satisfied with being his friend. She clenched her hands in her lap.

“I have already told you, my lord, there is nothing to forgive. That is not to say the ... the episode was not most unpleasant, but Lady Edith is quite correct in calling it a misunderstanding—a most unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“And my insult to you last night?” March ran his fingers through his hair. “Please forgive me, Alison, when I tell you that I had no intention of allowing you to be turned out of my aunt’s employ. As for my offer to make you my ... that is, to take you under my protection, came as much as a surprise to me as it no doubt did to you. Again, it was my hatred talking. Oh, God, Alison”—he flung himself into the chair next to her and took her hand in his—”I had come to admire you—and to respect you. I liked you! Then to discover that you were in reality the woman I loathed most in the world ... I felt betrayed.”

Alison stirred, forcing herself to ignore the warmth of March’s hand and the swirl of sensation that emanated from the spot where his thumb absently stroked her flesh. She spoke through dry lips. “I am ... very sorry about that deception, my lord. I had come to like you as well.” Lord, what a pallid turn of phrase, she thought despairingly. “I deeply regretted the lie I lived, but, as I said ...” She wrenched her hand from his and he stood once more, as though she had struck him.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “So you said. You were afraid.” He moved to the window and looked blindly out at the traffic moving along Royal Crescent. After a moment, he turned back to her, a twisted smile making its way over his lips.

“Then, as you also said last night, there is no more to be said. Except—” he hesitated and swallowed hard, “if at any time in the future, you need a friend, please remember me. I will be here for you.” He paused again and the air once more shimmered about them, almost crackling with something Alison dared not put a name to. March continued at last. “I shall be leaving Bath tomorrow.” His voice was brisk and prosaic except for the slight crack that could be heard in its depths. “In all likelihood I shall not see you again.” When she lifted her hand, he took a quick step forward. “What is it?” he asked, in a tone that seemed strangely hopeful.

“Your aunt... she is expecting you at her dinner party in two days’ time. She is holding it just for you, you know, and has invited her closest friends.” Alison smiled, albeit rather painfully. “She wants to show you off.”

“Oh, God. In that case, I suppose I’ll have to stay. Will you mind terribly?”

Alison shook her head mutely. Another lie. She would mind. Terribly. She needed to get the Earl of Marchford out of her life before he created any more chaos. Even more, she needed to get on with her mundane existence, to forget him completely—to erase from her heart for all time his warmth and his intelligence and his decency, not to mention those magnetic, sleepy-lion eyes.

March took her hand once more, for the merest moment. He bent to press a brief kiss on her fingertips, and then he was gone. Alison resisted the urge to move to the window to watch his retreating figure, and stood for some moments in the center of the room, her fingers pressed to her lips.

* * * *

Some hours later, Alison sat with Lady Edith in the drawing room. Her friend, thought Alison, looked ten years younger than she had at this time the day before. She hummed happily over her embroidery, pausing every now and again to issue a suggestion for the upcoming dinner party. Abruptly, she set her work aside and beamed at her companion.

“Alison, I must say it again. I am so pleased that this dreadful matter between you and March is over. What did he say to you after I left—if the matter was not private?”

“Of course not, my lady. The earl merely apologized again for his behavior. He ... he offered to stand friend for me if I should need one.”

“Oh. Is that all?”

“Why, yes. I thought it most generous of him. Do not you?”

“Um, of course. I had hoped ... Oh, it’s nothing. I am indulging in a silly whim,” she said, laughing, in response to Alison’s lifted brows. “Now, tell me what you plan to wear Thursday night. I believe I shall wear my violet silk with the silver trim, so perhaps you should consider your rose sarcenet. It’s most becoming, although I think the hem could stand another flounce. Meg says—”

She was interrupted by the entrance of a footman, who brought the information that a visitor awaited downstairs.

“It’s Mr. Crawford, ma’am,” he said. “He’s brought a bouquet for Lady Margaret.”

“What?” gasped Lady Edith and Alison in unison.

“I cannot believe that rogue would have the nerve to show his face here,” said Lady Edith, trembling with indignation. “Tell him we are not receiving, Blickling.”

“No!” interjected Alison. “That is,” she continued in a quieter tone, “I would like to speak with him, my lady. I have much to say to him.”

“I daresay,” said Lady Edith. “But surely you do not wish to be alone with him. Do you want me to join you?”

“No. Thank you, my lady, but I see no reason why you should be subjected to his presence. What I have to say will not take long, and certainly, there is nothing he can do to me in your home.”

“Very well, my dear. I shall leave you then. Show him up, Blickling.” She hurried from the room, turning at the door to add, “I shall leave my door ajar, Alison. All you have to do is call.”

Amused despite herself, Alison nodded gravely, and arranged her skirts against the sofa on which she sat. When Jack Crawford was ushered into the room a few moments later, she knew herself to be the picture of assured respectability.

“Alison!” Jack halted at the threshold in surprise. “You are all right?”

“Yes, quite. Lady Edith is upstairs, and Meg has not left her chamber as yet. I shall give her your flowers.”

“Never mind that,” said Jack, hurrying to seat himself beside her, leaving the flowers lying forgotten on a nearby table. “It is you I wished to see. Last night... what in God’s name happened?”

“Behold me unmasked,” replied Alison, smiling grimly. “Tell me, Jack, were those marked cards your doing?”

“Yes, of course. I gave you those cards. Do you not remember?”

Alison gritted her teeth. “No, Jack. As I told you, I never had any intention of using them. I left the deck you gave me behind. I thought perhaps you had somehow discovered this and slipped in a new deck for me.” She shrugged. “It must have been one of the other players—or perhaps the dealer. I should imagine the High Flyer is not too nice in its methods.”