Notorious Deception (4 page)

Diana was prepared to spend the remainder of the afternoon tossing and turning about, but she had underestimated her exhaustion, both physical and emotional. She would just rest for a few minutes before supper, she decided. No sooner had she closed her eyes than she was fast asleep.

 

Diana came awake slowly, the brilliant sunlight streaming through the open draped windows warming her with its intensity. Gradually she opened her eyes, allowing them to adjust to the brightness of the sun. Strange, she wondered sleepily, the window curtains almost looked blue instead of white in the sunshine today. She blinked several times before realizing the window dressings were indeed a soft shade of blue. She sat up quickly, her mind momentarily disoriented as she surveyed her surroundings.

The events of the previous day came rushing into her mind with startling clarity, and it took her a few moments to regain her composure. She rose from the bed and walked barefoot across the deep, lush carpet to close the draperies and shut out the sunlight. The room immediately became dim and dreary without the golden warmth of the sun.

Diana heaved a deep sigh, turned back to the window, and reopened the drapes. She was having enough trouble keeping her mood steady without creating an atmosphere of depression, she decided. She rang for a servant to bring fresh water and assist her with her toilet. A young maid, who introduced herself as Gwen, first brought the requested water, then produced a tray with hot chocolate and freshly baked rolls.

“Mrs. Roget thought you might be hungry since you missed supper last evening,” Gwen said, placing the heavy tray on a small table near the window. The maid left to retrieve Diana's clothing, which had been cleaned and pressed the previous evening.

Diana ate her breakfast thoughtfully while she waited for the maid to return with her things. After she dressed, Diana sat patiently, watching the young maid skillfully brush out her long hair and, upon Diana's instructions, secure it in a tight coil at the base of her neck.

“You have the most beautiful hair I've ever seen,” Gwen said sincerely, winding the soft, silky tresses. “Even Lady Caroline's hair isn't this light in color, nor as soft.”

At the mention of Tristan's wife, Diana felt a sharp pang of guilt, remembering how distressed Caroline had been at her arrival yesterday. Her first order of business that day had to be a discussion with Caroline, Diana decided. No matter how awkward the situation, Diana would not allow two innocent people to suffer a misunderstanding on her account—especially after Tristan had been so kind to her the day before.

“Has the family breakfasted yet, Gwen?” Diana inquired.

“Just Lord Tristan, madam,” Gwen replied. “Lady Caroline is not feeling well today. She is still abed.”

“I see,” Diana said, hoping that she was not in part responsible for Caroline's confinement to her bed. “Please convey a message to Lord Tristan that I would like to have a word with him at his earliest convenience.”

“Yes, madam. But his lordship has left for his club, and he is not expected back until late this afternoon. Shall I give the message to Higgins, his valet?”

“Umm, no, I don't think that will be necessary,” Diana replied, unsure as to her course of action. She was hoping to leave before luncheon, but that would not be possible until she had an opportunity to say her thanks and farewells to her hosts.

“Mrs. Roget told me to escort you to the morning room, so you can have a proper breakfast,” Gwen said when Diana grew silent. Diana nodded her head in agreement and followed the maid out the door and through the house.

In the brilliant morning sunlight, Diana was afforded a splendid view of the interior of the house, and she was impressed with what she saw. The furnishings were tastefully understated and elegant, from the highly polished marble floors to the thick, lush, pristine wool carpets, gilt chairs, satinwood tables, and large, ornate vases filled with artfully arranged, freshly cut flowers.

The morning room was a cheerful place decorated in shades of white and peach. As the footman held out the chair for Diana to be seated at the small table, she realized she was indeed hungry. She ate in peaceful silence, doing justice to the sumptuous meal of eggs, thin slices of ham, delicately fried potatoes, crisp toast, and fresh fruit.

After conveying her compliments and thanks to the cook, Diana wandered among the rooms until she discovered the library. She took a deep breath as she entered the room, enjoying the smell of beeswax and lemon oil, and looked with genuine pleasure at the beautiful tooled-leather volumes lining the walls. She ran her hands lovingly over the obviously much read volumes, searching for an appropriate title to spend the afternoon reading.

Diana paused briefly among the works of Shakespeare, but decided against
Romeo and Juliet, Othello,
or
Hamlet
. She had no desire to read about tragic love or scheming families, Diana determined, hoping that somewhere among the classics she would stumble upon a few volumes of popular fiction. Reading a Penny Novelette by Mrs. Radcliffe was just the thing she needed to escape from her own difficulties for a few hours. She wanted to immerse herself in a story set in a fantastic Italian castle with vaults and dungeons and secret passages, screams and the clanking of chains coming from dim corridors, haunted chambers, ghosts, doomed noble families and long-lost heirs.

Unfortunately Diana was not able to locate any novels of that genre and settled instead on a heavy volume of medieval history, another interest of hers. Comfortably nestled in a leather wing-back chair near a sunny window, she read her book, losing herself in the descriptive passages of the age of knights and chivalry. Her quiet solitude was suddenly interrupted by a female voice that was low, forceful and full of venom. Diana looked up in surprise and saw Caroline standing in the doorway.

“So, I see you are still here,
madam,”
Caroline spat out, her voice slightly slurred. The spite in Caroline's voice was lethal and in direct contrast to the pretty blonde loveliness of her appearance. “Derek came by last night to see you, but Tristan did not think you should be disturbed. Then they both proceeded to tell me a totally deranged tale about you and Giles Rutledge. Naturally, I did not believe a word of it.”

Caroline took only one unsteady step into the library before stopping. Then she leaned back heavily against the doorjamb for support. “Tristan was most protective of you. I didn't like it. Not one bit.” She took a deep breath, focusing her eyes intently on Diana's startled face. “I do not have the foggiest idea who you really are, madam, but I warn you, if you have any designs on my husband, you had best abandon them. Immediately. I have no intention of letting some distressed female capture Tristan's attention. Despite our current state of marital discord, I love my husband. And I keep what is mine.”

With that said, Caroline took another tentative step into the room and, without warning, collapsed into a heap on the rug.

Diana jumped up from her chair and raced across the room.

“Caroline!” she exclaimed breathlessly, kneeling down next to the fallen woman. Gently Diana turned her onto her back, trying to determine if she had been injured by her fall. “Caroline, can you hear me?”

When she received no response, Diana rose quickly and ran into the hall, calling for help. Immediately a footman appeared, followed by a maid.

“Summon Mrs. Roget at once,” Diana instructed the footman. “And bring me some fresh, cold water,” she said to the maid. The servants quickly scurried off to do her bidding.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mrs. Roget arrived, followed by the butler, Sutton.

“I am not quite sure what happened,” Diana said to the worried servants. “One moment she was speaking to me and the next she fell to the floor.”

“Shall I have Lord Tristan summoned?” Sutton asked.

Mrs. Roget leaned closely over Caroline's prostrate form, examining her mistress. “I don't believe that will be necessary, Mr. Sutton,” the housekeeper concluded. She looked over at the young footman speculatively.

“Do you think you can carry madam up to her bedchamber?” Mrs. Roget asked the footman, who nodded.

Following the housekeeper's instructions, the footman carefully lifted Caroline into his arms and carried her up the long, winding staircase. Diana automatically fell in step with Mrs. Roget and they kept pace directly behind the servant. In the entrance foyer, they met the maid, who was coming from the back of house, lugging a pitcher of water. Mrs. Roget instructed the maid to take the water upstairs.

After Caroline had been placed on her bed, the housekeeper dismissed the footman and maid and poured out a fresh glass of water.

“Is she all right?” Diana asked, her eyes never leaving Caroline's pale features.

“She will be fine,” Mrs. Roget insisted.

The housekeeper propped Caroline up in a reclining position and brought the glass of water to her lips, but was unable to get her to drink. Mrs. Roget put the glass down and walked over to Caroline's dressing table, searching among the bottles of makeup and scent.

“Here it is,” the housekeeper declared in relief, holding up a small, half-empty brown bottle. “I know that when the mistress is very uncomfortable, she occasionally needs to take this medicine. She must have taken a bit too much today.”

When she is uncomfortable? Diana thought with distress. “Do you think I might be the cause of this discomfort, Mrs. Roget?” Diana asked candidly.

“Good heavens, no,” Mrs. Roget replied with astonishment. “The medicine is for the cramps she gets with her monthly courses.”

“Oh,” Diana said, flushing at discussing such an intimate matter, even with another woman. “Are you sure she will be all right? She is very pale.”

Diana and the housekeeper turned to stare at Caroline, and the housekeeper said, “Well, perhaps it would be best if someone stays with her. I'd summon her maid, but today is Lucy's afternoon off and she has gone walking in the park with her young man. Would you mind sitting with her?”

“Of course not,” Diana answered, hoping Caroline would not awaken and be too distraught at seeing Diana in her bedchamber. Diana doubted that Caroline, drugged or not, would want to be reminded of Diana's presence in the house.

“Very good,” the housekeeper replied, obviously relieved. “I'll make sure his lordship is informed of madam's condition the moment he arrives home.”

After the housekeeper left, Diana took up a position in the far corner of the bedchamber. It afforded her an unobstructed view of Caroline, but was not so close so that the first thing Caroline would see upon awakening was Diana's curious face.

Just a few minutes passed before Caroline began moaning. Concerned, Diana moved closer to the bed, trying to decipher what the other woman was saying. She placed a firm hand on Caroline's brow to determine if there was any sign of fever. At Diana's touch, Caroline immediately fell silent, and then she called out clearly, “Alyssa, is that you?”

Caroline did not open her eyes when she spoke, and Diana assumed she was still under the influence of the medication. When Caroline continued to call for Alyssa, Diana decided it would be best to placate her rather than allowing her to be further agitated.

“I am here, Caroline,” Diana responded in a very low voice.

Caroline instantly relaxed. “Read to me,” she pleaded. “Read to me from Byron's book.”

Diana's eye speculatively swept about the room, coming to rest on the mahogany night table near the bed, where a slim book lay. She picked up the well-worn volume and read the title on the spine:
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
. Diana opened the book and was impressed to read the personalized inscription and signature of the author, Lord Byron. Hoping to calm Caroline enough so she could sleep, Diana pulled her chair closer to the bed and spent the remainder of the afternoon reading to and watching over Caroline.

 

Derek arrived at his club on St. James Street at four o'clock, two hours later than he had told Tristan to meet him. He strolled purposefully through the rooms searching for his friend, giving only the briefest nod of acknowledgment to those acquaintances he passed on his way. He finally located Tristan comfortably settled in a quiet corner, hidden behind a copy of
The Examiner
.

“Becoming a reformist, Tris?” Derek remarked, reading the headline of the weekly paper.

A few seconds elapsed before Tristan lowered his paper. “Well, Derek,” Tristan said in a dry voice, “I've been waiting for you for so long it was either read what the Hunt brothers have to say or join the young dandies lounging in the bow window up front. They are busy eyeing the women as they walk by and passing rude remarks about the men. You should be glad I chose the paper.”

Derek smiled down at his friend before sitting in the chair next to him. “No, you should be glad you chose the paper. Liberals they may be, but the Hunts make a damn sight more sense than the fools sitting up at the windows.”

“Perhaps,” Tristan said with a grin, demonstrating that he was not really angry. “I was beginning to wonder about you, Derek. It isn't like you to be so late.”

“Sorry,” Derek said and signaled for a waiter to bring refreshments. “I've spent the most frustrating day. I swear I've been all over London this afternoon on the most complex document trail you can imagine.”

“I wish I had been with you,” Tristan remarked, tossing his newspaper aside. “Were you able to learn anything to substantiate the lovely Diana's most unusual story?”

“Not precisely. I have, however, made a rather bizarre connection between my cousin and the lady,” Derek admitted. “I spent the better part of last night and this morning searching through every scrap of paper in the house, hoping Giles left some clues behind.”

“And,” Tristan said, “what have you discovered?”

“Not very much, I'm afraid. I found a letter dated September of last year from a solicitor who requested a meeting in his office with Giles. The solicitor's name was not familiar to me; he was not the same man who handled Giles's estate. I decided to pay this man, one Mr. Jonathan Marlow, a visit, but when I arrived at the address I was told he no longer kept an office at that location,”

“Has he moved somewhere else?”

“If he did, it was very sudden. There were still a few files left and the odd bit of furniture, but the landlord said Mr. Marlow hadn't been in for over a week. And he did not have the slightest notion where Mr. Marlow might be located.”

“That is odd,” Tristan said, rubbing his brow thoughtfully. “What did you do next?”

“Since the solicitor was a blind alley I decided to investigate the properties Diana demanded the deeds for yesterday. She claimed Giles managed these properties, but they were in fact owned by her. As I read through the papers she had given me, I discovered one of the properties in question was, of all things, a tavern located on the outskirts of London. So I took a ride out there to have a chat with the proprietor.”

Derek fell silent for a few minutes as the waiter placed a heavy silver tray containing a bottle of wine and two glasses on the mahogany table at the earl's side. Derek waited until the man poured out the drinks and left before he continued.

“Luck was finally on my side and I was able to speak with the owner. In fact, I not only saw the current deed of ownership, but I persuaded the proprietor to let me borrow the deed for a day or two.”

“How on earth did you manage that?” Tristan asked.

“It wasn't easy,” Derek answered with a slight laugh. “I first had to consume several tankards of the inn's very watered-down ale, and when all else failed, I left my new phaeton as collateral.”

“This deed must be very important for you to part with your new carriage, even if only for a short time,” Tristan said and leaned forward eagerly in his chair. “Well, don't keep me in suspense any longer, Derek. Let me see the damn thing.”

Silently, Derek handed the document into Tristan's outstretched hand, and then he sat back in his chair. His keen eyes never left his friend's face because he wanted to witness Tristan's initial reaction, hoping it would be as astonished as his own had been.

Tristan let out a long, low whistle as he scanned the page and read the signature of the seller, clearly written at the bottom of the document. There was no mention of either the Earl of Harrowby or Giles Rutledge, but the signature of the previous owner was distinctly written in a firm, bold hand: Diana Maria Crawford Rutledge.

“At least we know she was telling us the truth,” Tristan said.

Derek merely grunted and shot Tristan a quelling look. “We know nothing of the kind, Tris,” he insisted. “All this proves is that Diana owned this inn at one time and has since sold it. The name Rutledge is not an uncommon one. It in no way indicates that she was ever married to my cousin.”

“What about the tavern keeper? Could he tell you anything about Diana?”

Derek squirmed uncomfortably in his seat for a moment. “Actually, that is where the rub is. It seems the innkeeper never met the previous owner. His only contact was with the owner's solicitor.”

Tristan gave Derek a boyish grin. “And would, by any chance, this solicitor be Mr. Jonathan Marlow?”

“The very same,” Derek reluctantly admitted as he absently fingered his wine goblet. “But you needn't look so smug, Tris. It still proves nothing.”

“I disagree, Derek. 'Tis obvious the solicitor is the connection. Too bad Mr. Marlow is not available to answer our questions.”

“That does seem to be rather convenient, doesn't it?” Derek said with a wry smile. “It puts me of the opinion that Diana and Mr. Marlow are somehow working together in this matter.”

“For what possible purpose, Derek?”

The earl raised an eyebrow in surprise, displaying his amazement at his friend's naivete. “For the purpose of extorting money, Tristan. What else?”

Tristan frowned and shook his head. “I find it extremely difficult to believe Diana is an adventuress. She just does not fit the part.”

“Why not?” he shot back. “Just because she is beautiful does not mean she is also honorable. Your head has always been too easily turned by a pretty face, Tris. I know only too well how a lovely exterior can conceal a faithless heart.”

Tristan grimaced. “Can you not finally put Charity to rest, Derek? It has been almost two years,” he said, his voice low and sympathetic.

“I was under the impression I had done just that,” Derek murmured and curled his lips cynically. “Charity would probably find it vastly entertaining to know how her memory occasionally haunts me.”

“Charity is a fool, Derek,” Tristan stated vehemently. “She should have never chosen Winchester over you.”

“She might finally be having second thoughts about it, Tris. After all, I am now an earl, and Winchester is merely a baron,” he responded mockingly.

“You are well rid of her,” Tristan insisted as he had countless other times.

This was not the first occasion he and Tristan had discussed Miss Charity Worthington, and even after two years, the memories still wounded Derek. He had yet to understand how he, a normally sensible and levelheaded man, had become totally besotted with Charity, seemingly overnight. Hapless fool that he was, he had allowed his happiness to overflow when the lady had claimed to return his affection with equal ardor, and with pride and confidence, he had pressed his suit to Charity's father. Baron Worthington, a fair and unpretentious man, had looked with favor upon Derek's offer of marriage. Although untitled, Derek had a long and noble lineage; moreover, although he was a man of modest means, he possessed ambition. He had a proven head for business and a strong, determined character. Derek knew that he was exactly the sort of man that the baron sought for his youngest daughter.

Charity, it appeared, had had other ideas. When Derek had informed her of their impending marriage, she was clearly horrified. She had no intention of throwing herself away on an untitled man, no matter how well turned out. She demanded, in a voice full of spite and venom, that he immediately withdraw his suit so she would be free to peruse other offers of marriage.

Stunned, Derek had complied, still reeling from the shock. How could he have so grievously misjudged the angelic beauty? But Charity's scheming knew no bounds. After Derek reluctantly broke the agreement he had made with her father, Charity immediately circulated the rumor that Derek had jilted her, rallying the sympathies of the
ton
around her and turning respectable society against Derek. Charity had assumed an air of wounded fragility and shy innocence that successfully awakened the chivalrous instincts of Lord Winchester. They were married a month after Charity had refused Derek, amid all the pomp and circumstance Derek had come to despise.