Argent (Hundred Days Series Book 3) (4 page)

In the end, it didn't matter a fig. She was in there, and he would draw her out.

CHAPTER FIVE

              Alix stuffed her trunk until it strained, its lid creaking at an excess of eyelet and lace. She would pack a single trunk and save herself trouble. Paulina would demand three, even four, for a weekend. Limiting her own accessories, Alexandra could spare herself a speech from her sister-in-law about the woman's deprivation without shawls, petticoats, muslin and silk gowns. Rooms too hot or too cold could spell Paulina’s death, of course, and only the most callous would deny the woman a necessity. Nine pairs of slippers and twelve silks in nearly the same color; who had the right to pass judgment on what Paulina required in order to survive?

Not much longer
, Alix smiled to herself, latching her trunk. Chas might be saddled with Paulina and that was a sad pit of his own making. But she was not, and soon their mutual tolerance would be at an end. She would take the same leap she had made years earlier getting on that ship, and this time she would not get off for any number of Silas’s threats. She’d pinched what little money Chas had deposited on her shares to a miserly degree, eking out one meager return at a time. Cheated from the sale of their family house in Malton, hers in accordance with Father's will, progress had been glacial. Now and then she had made an investment, a small one with its return guaranteed. Each exchange moved her one step closer to her coup: to buy up any and every share of Paton & Son Shipping, enough that Silas would be forced to reckon with her at the bargaining table. Chas might live inside Silas’s grasp, but she was too old and too fed up to endure him any longer. He would
not
demolish what her family had worked so hard to build.

Coming to England and meeting the Hastings was not the family reunion Chas had claimed to John. Mother had detested her father and eldest brother, the former Lord Hastings, and there was no love lost at the estrangement. Silas was convinced that England offered opportunity, and had sent Chas and Paulina to harvest it for him, exploiting family ties his idea from the start. Underhanded, but his scheme had offered Alix a convenient opportunity, too. Private shippers made top coin in contested waters, making England just the place to fatten her bankroll out from under at least one set of prying eyes.

              A handsome stranger, plentiful investments, and now the intriguing Lord Reed. Alix hefted up her trunk, reveling in a bit of smugness. For a trip she hadn't been thrilled to make, a lot of good things were happening.

              Trunk packed, a footman appeared on silent cue to drag it away, and Alix locked the door behind him. Settling in front of a deep oak vanity, she fished a tattered list from her apron pocket and rested it back against the mirror. She reached into the foot well, recovering the writing case she’d hidden there. She had pinched it from the small parlor, convinced that neither her nerves nor the frail desk could withstand another round of correspondence.

Over the next hour, she penned the same brief letter to the last six names on her list; an offer to buy out their shares of Paton & Son at a generous price. At the foot of each she added the details of her father’s attorney, signed them ‘Alex Rowan’ and blew sand across the ink.

When they were sealed, she crept out into the hallway and wound down the back staircase until she encountered a servant going up. Alix held out the bundle. “I have letters of introduction from Lady Hastings. Please see that they’re posted this afternoon.” Catching voices farther downstairs, from out in the main hall, she backed up a step. “If you encounter any trouble, you’re to come to me directly. Mrs. Paton is in an ill humor and is not to be bothered. Understood?”

At Paulina’s name the young maid swallowed, green eyes wide with an obvious if unspoken question: Why had her mistress given letters to a guest, to be given to a servant? She worried her kerchief with anxious fingers, studying the bundle of post with the same trepidation as a live snake.

Had Paulina already bullied the girl into the position of unwilling ally? Domestic staff could lose their place over the smallest complaint, and no one prodded with veiled threats as skillfully as Paulina. Alexandra’s nerves erupted in response to the maid, and she snatched the letters back and jammed them deep inside her pocket.

“Never you mind. Do not trouble yourself.” She dug beneath the letters for a coin and pressed it into the maid’s limp hand. “No need mentioning this; I can settle the matter myself.”

She didn’t wait for an answer or even a nod as the voices grew louder, their owners moving up the main staircase. One of them was distinctly Chas, and Alix wondered if the maid would rush her, reveal their exchange to him in a fearful confession. Turning, she raised her skirts and raced back up the way she’d come, relieved when no steps followed behind. Chas and Paulina were just coming into sight when she reached the landing.

              “You’re making something out of nothing,” her brother whispered, glancing behind them.

              “It’s only nothing until it occurs,” Paulina hissed back, her thick Dutch weighting each word into a blow against her husband. “Can you imagine if she does catch the eye of some rutting Englishman? Think of the scandal when people start asking who she is, where she comes from!”

“Let them ask. What matter is it to us?”

Here Paulina ground to a halt, swirled on Chas and stabbed his breast with a sharp finger. “What matter is it to my father!”

In a rare fit of bravery, Chas slapped down the offending hand but gained no reprieve from her proximity.

“My father has made his wishes, his
expectations
known to you.” She deflated just a breath, folding her hands. “And his consequences.”

“Alexandra will be kept at heel,” he murmured, head hanging.

And so will you
. Alix shook her head. Being used to being discussed and enjoying it were two different things. She crossed her arms and cleared her throat, snapping around both their heads.

              “Alexandra,” muttered Chas, not meeting her eyes. “What are you doing out here?”

              “Last I was informed, I am free to come and go.” She narrowed eyes at Paulina, who stared past her. “Or has that changed?”

              Unlike Chas, Paulina showed not a hint of discomfort at being overheard. “Not so long as you keep from shaming us.” Judgment in her accusation hit like a slap.

              Alix raised on tip toes, putting them eye to eye, forcing the woman to look at her. “The day may come, very soon, when you’ll choke on your own wickedness.” She immediately regretted the words. It was foolish, letting Paulina get the better of her and giving away even a hint that she could get the upper hand. It could be dangerous information later.

Paulina’s step back, a dimming to the malice in her eyes, eclipsed all worry. Alix tasted a small but delicious bit of triumph. She turned her back on the pair, Paulina’s abuse and Chas’s cowardice, filled with satisfaction.

CHAPTER SIX

Oakvale, the Reed estate -- May 16th, 1814

              Laurel had not exaggerated Oakvale's beauty. She
had
failed to mention its size. It was more than just a house and grounds, Alix discovered, as they bounced over dusty, hard-packed roads. Fields, bronze and pale green, hugged low hills, and then a village rose up from the horizon. Neat gold thatch and a gray stone church tower dominated its charming ramble. Then the road curved away and up a low rise, gaining the cliffs Laurel had mentioned. A wide serpentine lake filled the valley below, green and silver beneath an afternoon sun.

              Whether by design or on a whim, Lord Reed had insisted on her and Laurel riding with him, asserting that the ladies would be bored with John's talk of business. Alix pressed a smile behind her fingers, noting that he had excluded Paulina from his concerns.

              “Something amuses you, Mrs. Rowan?”

              She wished he wouldn't call her that, wished no one called her that. Alix shook her head. “Just delighted. Lady Hastings has described your home perfectly.”

              Reed was silent, something which occurred any time she was eager for him to say more. “Is your family in London?” she ventured, the best way she could manage to ask, without asking, if he had a wife.

              Reed continued staring out the window, the line of his brows pulled down into a vee of concentration. “My brother Bennet resides with me on occasion. Keeps the house when I am away with the army.” Firm lips turned up into a hint of a smile. “London leaves him too deep in the pockets for land of his own.”

              “You'll adore Bennet,” Laurel promised. “It is simply impossible to not enjoy one's self in his company.”

              “Oh no,” countered Reed. “It is really very possible. If he seems unmanageable at home, I challenge you to command him on the field.”

              The information surprised her. “Both in the army? In the same regiment?”

              “No longer, saints be praised. We’re well separated, when he’s not out adventuring or playing pirate.” Reed snorted. “Smarter uniforms.”

              “Ignore our host, Mrs. Rowan. Bennet has acquitted himself well.”

              “So he has,” admitted Spencer. “He'll come out all right, yet.”

              She watched him while he wasn't looking, sun catching a hint of bronzed stubble kissing his cheeks. Gray eyes absorbed the scenery, shaded beneath the brim of his polished beaver hat. Chestnut sideburns, shaved neatly at his ears, framed a firm jaw. He was forty, John had said, though she struggled to believe it. A few winged creases at the corners of his eyes, a pleasant line on either side of his mouth betrayed it, but she found him no less handsome for his age.

Handsome but less satisfying, unequal to her stranger. Not a fault of his own; any man would be. Much as she had convinced herself of maintaining a perfect fantasy, the garden affair plagued her waking and sleeping. She had fought it for days, but resolve crumbled faster and faster. Soon, very soon she would give in and quiz John and Laurel about her stranger.

              “You stare very frankly, Mrs. Rowan.” Spencer was looking at her now, eyes dancing, having caught the full force of her pointed study.

              “I do,” she admitted, earning a giggle from Laurel. Thank God for sweet Laurel, a bright spot in her family circle. And a heap of shame on Paulina for being such a harridan to their hostess.

              Laurel groaned and pressed a hand to her stomach, closing her eyes while her head lolled back against the chocolate leather squabs. “I should have eaten more at breakfast. Or less. Reed, will you open your window?”

              He grunted, complying while she took in Laurel’s appearance. Tired shadows across her face, stomach complaints; the realization struck like lightning. “Laurel, are you with child?”

              One green eye cracked in her direction. “Not as far as anyone but John and Reed are concerned.”

              “Oh.” Alexandra swatted at a pang of jealousy. Unmarried and very much un-pursued at thirty-two, she had resigned herself to a life without children. “Well, here,” she fished her reticule from between them, locating a tin and popping off its lid. “Mint and soda ash. Starch. I keep them for dry air, but I've heard they can ease stomach complaints.” She dropped a candy into Laurel's palm. “And your secret is my secret.”

              “Thank you,” Laurel murmured, laying the mint on her tongue. “After losing the last one… We'd just rather not say anything for a bit longer.”

              She squeezed Laurel's fingers. “I understand.”

              Spencer was watching them with a tight expression she couldn't interpret. She smiled, and he looked away. Why were they always out of tune?

              Laurel made a noise, and grimaced. “Not a taste I'd choose to have in my mouth, but I admit to feeling better. Are these also for your cough?”

              “What?” She’d heard the questions; now she stalled for time to construct a reasonable explanation.

              “Chas shared with us that you have lung complaints, coughing fits.” Laurel’s mouth pulled into a sympathetic frown. “The clean air here will make that better, I think.”

              Alix bit her cheek against a smile. She did not have a lung complaint. She had a Paulina complaint, and a clever excuse to avoid going just about anywhere with her brother's wife. Her only embarrassment was that it had taken so many years to concoct a remedy. Hot peppers from the East, a little soot from the grate, and like magic she’d contracted a debilitating chest ailment. Who would notice that it was aggravated anytime she was forced to share company with the horrible woman? “Oh,” she murmured, studying her glove and trying to sound frail, “I'm not certain that it will.”

*              *              *

Over the years, Laurel had taught him a thing or two about being a good host, and now had seemed the perfect time to put her lessons to use. Having never been married, never having had a woman to manage the gentler aspects of his estate, he’d often relied on her to make the house presentable for guests.

Laurel had teased him about his companions now and then, insisting that he could entertain a lady just fine without her help. He’d been provoked, after much harassment by John, into explaining that
his
sort of entertaining was not suitable for London company. The women who had passed through his life didn’t cross stitch or pour tea. Some years ago, upon noticing his lack of domestic ability, Laurel had taken it upon herself to impart her wisdom, educating him on comforts and niceties which impressed visitors. From where the chairs should be arranged on a cold day in order for guests to be warm but not soot-covered, how to arrange the table so that disagreeable pairings were avoided without creating hard feelings, Laurel had mastered all of the rules. Having sent his groom ahead to Oakvale in order to have tea and refreshments ready for their arrival, he was proud that some of her lessons had sunk in.

Almost upon arrival, Chas and Paulina had stomped upstairs under complaints of fatigue from a poor carriage ride. Now, standing in the hall and watching John usher a green-about-the-gills Laurel out into the garden for air, Spencer felt cheated of his moment.

He turned to Alexandra and held his breath, waiting for her to make an excuse and take her leave, as the others had. Instead, she smiled and shrugged. “More for me, then.
I
am famished.” He dared a hesitant smile of his own and opened his mouth, only to be cut off by a warning of footsteps, boots striking marble at the top of the staircase. He turned, disappointed at the thought of Chas returning and was greeted by the sight of his brother. A smart blue riding jacket and buckskins announced that Bennet was on his way out.

“Reed.” Bennet took the stairs in a military double-time, scowling and hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “Who in bloody hell were those two dowdies? I swear that woman gave me a look to plain freeze my –” He skidded to a stop and craned his head, grinning. “Oh.
Hello
.” He painted Alexandra in a quick once-over, and he met Spencer’s eyes with a nod of approval.

Spencer sighed and gave Bennet quelling shake of his head.

“Hello.” Alexandra stepped forward and pursed a smile, ducking her head and charming him.

Bennet strode forward, eyes on her all the while. “I don’t believe we’ve met, and shame on my brother for it.” He kicked back a leg and bowed for all his worth, as though they were at court.

Always showing off to the ladies
. Spencer supposed to an extent it ran in the family. His history was marked with a few acts shamelessly aimed at grabbing attention from the fairer sex. He stepped aside and raised a hand to Alexandra. “This is Mrs. Rowan. Mrs. Rowan, this, unfortunately, is my brother, the
honorable
Bennet Reed.”

Alexandra curtsied to Bennet. “And you have just had the pleasure of meeting
my
brother, Mister Paton, and his wife Paulina.” Bennet had the decency to look stricken, until Alexandra threw him a sly look. “And what a
pleasure
it was, I’m sure,” she said.

Now Bennet looked to him, head and lips cocked, and raised a brow at her wit.

Spencer raised a brow of his own and communicated as best he could with only his eyes that Bennet had better not even consider it. Alexandra Rowan was not on the market, as far as he was concerned.

“My brother has told me a
great
deal about you,” Bennet was toeing a line to get in his dig; Spencer resisted an urge to wring his neck. “And it seems it was all true.”

                Alexandra brightened. “That’s very kind. We’re all grateful to be invited.” She paused and glanced up the stairs, then shrugged. “I am very grateful to be invited.”

He had been ready to shoo his brother away and seize an opportunity for a moment alone with Alexandra, but now reconsidered. As they traded quips, he watched her engage Bennet now in a way he had not observed in all their time together since the garden. Bennet always had an easy charm which drew people out and gained their confidence, and Spencer appreciated that there might be an advantage to keeping his brother at hand today. “We were just going in for luncheon,” he said.

Bennet nodded. “I was headed to the stables.”

“You should have something to eat before you exert yourself.”

“I’m not particularly hungry,” Bennet said, puzzled.

“You always say so,” ground out Spencer, “and then you feel unwell after. I really believe,” he said, stressing each word with eyes wide, “that you ought to come in with us and have a little something.”

“I – oh! Oh.” Looking back and forth between his brother and Alexandra, understanding dawned on Bennet’s face. “I should. You are correct.” In a coup, he pushed past and took Alexandra’s arm before Spencer could say another word.

They settled at the breakfast table around a tempting spread. Its crisp white cloth and centerpiece of molded sugar paste fruit renewed a pang of disappointment that a majority of his guests had missed the brilliant efforts of his cook, Mrs. Tate. It passed a breath later when Alexandra
ooh’d
and
ahh’d
enough for three people.

“You’re right to be impressed, Mrs. Rowan,” said Bennet, snatching a tiny pink cake from its tray without waiting for her to go first. “When it is just the two of us, Reed makes us sit on the floor at the kitchen fire and eat from wooden trenchers.”

“That was my plan for today as well,” he teased, watching Alexandra for a reaction. “But Mrs. Tate must have missed my instructions.”

“Ogre,” she said without looking up from her plate. She didn’t have to; her expression had softened, and he caught some of the warmth which had first drawn him to her. A shiver of concern intruded, and Spencer wondered again at the looks which had passed between Alexandra and Paulina at the Hastings’.

“How are you finding England?” Bennet managed, finishing a bite.

“I hardly have words,” she said. “We arrived in London first, and that was one sort of beauty. There is a strange pleasure to be had in its clockwork busyness. It all seems like chaos, the crowds and parties, but there is a rhythm to it that you notice when you really examine the city.”

He had never thought of London as anything other than the crush she had first described, but upon reflection, Spencer appreciated that she was right; he may not enjoy being a part of the mechanism, but London was not the bedlam he had accused.

Her opinion had surprised Bennet too, who was nodding slowly and trying to formulate a reply.

Alexandra’s interference saved them both. “Anyhow, the north is spectacular in its own way and these lands in particular…” She shook her head, eyes half closed. “As Laurel promised, they really are breathtaking.”

“It is kind of you to say,” Spencer muttered. Pride welled in his chest at her praise of his home, further igniting his attraction. He pretended an examination of his plate, stealing glances at her until Bennet caught her in conversation. Then he dared a more blatant study.