Red Roses Mean Love (33 page)

* * *

Victoria Mallory could not sleep.

She'd retired shortly after dinner, hoping her absence would give Justin a chance to draw Stephen out and perhaps confide whatever was bothering him.

She was greatly concerned for her brother. Ever since his return two weeks ago, he'd been different. The old Stephen was cynical, jaded, and arrogant, but he could also be charming and devilish, and he always had a kind word for her.

Now he barely spoke to anyone, and when he did, his answers were limited to clipped monosyllables. If he said more than two or three words at a time, they were accompanied by such a frigid glare, the conversation abruptly ended. When he was not glaring or brooding, he was drinking.

But the thing that alarmed
Victoria
the most was the look of utter weary resignation in his eyes. It was almost as if he didn't give a damn about anyone or anything.

After remaining in her bed for almost an hour,
Victoria
couldn't stand the inactivity a moment longer. She simply had to know what was going on. Donning her robe, she crept silently down the stairs.

She paused outside the drawing room and pressed her ear
to the door. Silence. She quietly turned the knob and saw the
room was empty. She moved along the hall to the library.

She crept along, the sound of her footsteps swallowed by the thick Persian runner. Pausing outside the door, she heard the distinct murmur of voices. Triumphant, and without a
twinge of guilt, she dropped to her knees and peered through
the keyhole. Blackness. Damnation. The key must be in the hole. She pressed her ear to the door, but the words from within were muffled and indistinct.

Not ready to admit defeat,
Victoria
hurried to the study. There was an adjoining door between the two rooms. With any luck, the door wouldn't be locked.

Once inside, she carefully picked her way across the
room, taking care not to overturn any tables. When she reached the adjoining door, she held her breath, turning
the knob in infinite degrees. To her delight, the knob turned.
She carefully inched the door open and pressed her ear to the crack. Justin's voice drifted to her.

"…
is drinking yourself into oblivion really the best course of action for you to take? Whoever tried to kill you is still out there, waiting for another chance. You can hardly defend yourself if you're foxed."

Victoria
's blood ran cold and she clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her stunned gasp. Dear God, someone was trying to kill Stephen? Pressing her ear back to the crack, she listened to their entire conversation, her shock growing with each passing minute.

Then the talking stopped. She applied her eye to the crack in the door and saw Justin struggling to pull Stephen, who appeared passed out cold, to his feet. Quietly closing the door, she made her way out of the room.

She sprinted down the hall in a very uncountesslike manner. Then, employing a method that would shock the matrons of the
ton
right down to their stockings, she hiked her
nightgown and robe up to her thighs and took the stairs two at a time, not pausing in her mad dash until she was safely ensconced under the covers in her bed.

Closing her eyes, she calmed her breathing, for she knew
Justin would come to her. He knew how anxious she was to know if he'd found out anything about what was bothering
Stephen. Several minutes later she heard the door connecting her and Justin's adjoining suites open.

Victoria
felt the edge of the bed pull down under Justin's weight as he perched there. She opened her eyes and smiled at him in the semidarkness.

"I should have known you'd still be awake," he said, his voice laced with amusement.

"I'm anxiously awaiting your report on Stephen," she replied, sitting up. "Did he tell you what is bothering him?"

Justin hesitated, then said, "I'm afraid Stephen had too much to drink. I helped him upstairs and deposited him in the blue guest bedchamber."

"I see,"
Victoria
said. Justin obviously wasn't going to repeat his conversation with Stephen.
Must be a code of honor among men not to reveal confidences spoken while in their cups.
Fortunately, she didn't need Justin to tell her. Of course, it would never do for
Justin
to know that.

"I'd so hoped you could find out what is bothering him,"
Victoria
said, heaving her best wistful sigh. "I want so much to help him."

Justin gathered her in his arms and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Stephen will be fine," he said in a comforting voice. "Believe me, there is nothing you can do to help him, other than be patient with him. He'll be himself again soon."

Victoria
snuggled closer to her husband's chest, a small secret smile curving her mouth. Nothing she could do to help?

We shall see about that.

Chapter 24

«
^
»

H
ayley walked through the woods, her footsteps silent on the hard-packed dirt path. Sunlight filtered through the trees, warming the cool, shaded air. When she reached the lake, she found a grassy spot and plopped down, resting her weight on her hands, and stared at the sparkling dark blue
water.

Dear God, will I ever feel happy again?
She picked up a
small pebble and tossed it, watching a series of water rings spread. She normally found peace in this setting, in the moss-scented shade and gentle rustle of leaves. But not today. Not in the last two weeks. Not since
he'd
left.

She'd had two weeks to gather her spirits, garner her thoughts, and break out of the malaise that had been her constant companion since Stephen's departure. In those two weeks she'd failed utterly. It still hurt to breathe. Her insides ached and her heart felt crushed, her soul bruised, as if wild horses had trampled her into the mud. Life as she'd known it before Stephen's arrival was no longer the same.

She hadn't been able to look at her flower garden. She couldn't bear to see it—especially the pansies. And she hadn't slept in her bed since he left, unable to lie where they'd spent the night making love to each other.

She couldn't sleep anyway, so she spent most nights in her father's study, bent over her stories, writing until dawn. When the sun slipped over the horizon, she would lie down for an hour or two on the settee in the study and doze fitfully.

Because she knew her family was worried about her, she'd forced herself to put on a cheerful face for them the last several days in order to reassure them she was all right. She couldn't stand Pamela's pitying looks anymore.

Over the last two weeks her emotions had run the gamut from anger to heartbreak. Sometimes she was furious—at Stephen for his empty words and the way he'd left her, and at herself for falling for him. Other times she felt so utterly, completely devastated, she could barely stand up. Her knees weakened with shame every time she recalled her uninhibited behavior the night before he left.

She cringed to think she'd told him she loved him. She'd spent the first week he was gone worrying she might be with child, but that had proven not to be the case.

I have no one to blame but myself. I offered him everything I have—my heart, my soul, my innocence—it wasn't enough.
She'd reread his note a hundred times, until she couldn't look at it anymore, and had finally laid it in the fireplace late last night. It was time to get on with her life. She had a family who depended on her, and responsibilities to take care of. They gave her a reason to go on. It was time to stop wallowing in self-pity and once again join the living. It was time to get on with her life.

Just as Stephen obviously had.

* * *

"Yes, yes, who is there?" Grimsley asked, pulling the front door open. He squinted into the sunshine, blinded by the bright glare. "Who are you? Do I know you? Where are my spectacles?" He slapped his hand to the top of his head and winced as their wire frames bit into his skin.

He adjusted the glasses on the end of his nose and peered again, this time his eyes widening in amazement. A footman garbed in full livery, the finest Grimsley had ever seen, stood at the door.

Winston chose that moment to stride into the foyer. "Who the hell are ya and wot the hell do ya want?" he bellowed.

"I have a message for Miss Hayley Albright," the footman intoned, his features an impassive mask. "Is she at home?"

Grimsley self-consciously tugged his waistcoat into place. "Yes, Miss Albright is at home. Wait here."

Winston glared at the footman, clearly suspicious. "You find Miz Hayley, Grimsley. I'll watch this bloke. If 'e gives me any trouble, I'll knock 'im sideways with me bare hands."

Summoning all the dignity he could under the circumstances, Grimsley left the foyer in search of Miss Hayley. He had absolutely no idea where she was.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to find her. After an exhaustive search, he finally located her in the vegetable garden, pulling weeds with Callie and Pamela. When he explained the presence of the fancy footman, they all followed him back to the house.

"Miss Hayley Albright?" the footman asked, his gaze alternating between Hayley and Pamela.

"I am Hayley Albright," Hayley said, coming forward.

He held out a folded piece of wax-sealed ivory vellum paper. "I have a message for you from the Countess of Blackmoor. The countess asked that I wait for your reply."

"The Countess of Blackmoor?" Hayley repeated, completely at sea. She turned the thick piece of paper over in her hands. "I've never heard of such a person. Are you certain the message is for me?"

"Absolutely certain," the footman said.

"What does it say?" Callie asked, pulling on Hayley's gown.

"Let's find out." Hayley broke the seal and scanned the note. "How extraordinary."

"What?" Callie and Pamela asked in unison.

"The Countess of Blackmoor is inviting me to tea tomorrow at her
London
town house. She says although we've
never met, she recently discovered we have mutual friends and she would like very much to meet me."

"Who are the mutual friends?" Pamela asked, peering over Hayley's shoulder to scan the note.

"She does not say."

Callie clapped her hands together gleefully. "A tea party with a countess! Can I come? Please, Hayley?"

Hayley shook her head, completely confused. "No, darling, I'm afraid not." She turned her attention back to the liveried footman. "The countess is expecting you to return with my reply?"

"Yes, Miss Albright. Should you consent to the countess's invitation, a carriage will be sent to pick you up and escort you home."

"I see." Hayley looked at Pamela. "What should I do?"

"I think you should go," Pamela said without hesitation.

"Me too," piped in Callie.

"After all, how many chances does one have to share tea with a countess?" Pamela asked with an encouraging smile. "It will do you a world of good to get out. Besides, aren't you simply dying of curiosity to see who your mutual friends are?"

"Yes, I must admit I am." Hayley reread the invitation one last time, still not quite believing it was meant for her. "Very well," she said to the footman. "You may tell the countess I'd be delighted to accept her invitation."

"Thank you, Miss Albright. The countess's carriage will be here at
eleven o'clock
tomorrow." The footman bowed, then left. Hayley, Pamela, Callie, Grimsley, and even Winston crowded around the window, noses all but pressed to the glass, and watched the elegant coach disappear from view.

"Tie me to the mainsheet and wave me in the breeze," Winston huffed. "I ain't never seen such a fancy rig in all me life."

"Indeed," Pamela agreed with a laugh. "Goodness, Hayley, what on earth will you wear?"

Hayley stared at her sister, nonplussed. "I have no idea. I don't own anything the least bit appropriate."

"What about the pale aqua dress—"

"No." Hayley's sharp reply cut the air. "I mean, it is much too fancy for afternoon tea," she amended hastily. She didn't want to even think about that dress. If she did, then she'd think about Stephen and the night she'd worn it, and she refused to do that.

"You could borrow one of my dresses," Pamela offered.

"That's very kind of you, but I'm much too tall for anything of yours," Hayley said. "I shall simply wear one of my gray gowns."

"You'll do no such thing," Pamela said firmly. She grabbed Hayley by the hand and dragged her toward the stairs. "Callie, please find Aunt Olivia. Tell her to fetch her sewing kit and then come to my bedchamber."

Callie ran off on her errands, and Hayley allowed Pamela to pull her up the stairs. "What are you doing?" Hayley asked.

"We are going to find you something to wear," Pamela replied, throwing open the doors to her wardrobe. She pulled out several gowns, surveying them critically before tossing them on the bed. "No, none of those will do," she said, reaching in again. "Ah ha!" she said, her face lighting up with triumph. She held a pale peach gown out to Hayley. "This will look lovely on you."

"But it will be much too short," Hayley protested, shaking her head. "Besides, that is one of the gowns I bought for you so you could look your best when
Marshall
comes calling."

"We can correct the length," Pamela said firmly. "We'll simply fashion a ruffle and sew it onto the bottom. Ruffles are very popular now."

"But what about
Marshall
?"

"He hates the color peach," Pamela said, but her blush told Hayley she wasn't being truthful. Tenderness flooded Hayley at her sister's attempt to please her.

Aunt Olivia and Callie appeared in the doorway, and before Hayley knew what was happening, her plain brown gown was gone, and the peach gown was lowered over her head. Pamela explained to Aunt Olivia about the tea with the countess and the lack of suitable attire.

The gown fit Hayley quite well, except it was a bit snug in the bodice and about six inches too short. Pamela and Aunt Olivia walked around Hayley, pulling material here, pinching material there, discussing options. When a course of action was finally decided upon, the dress was quickly removed and the three women set to work.

They worked the remainder of the afternoon, pausing only long enough to eat dinner. Nathan and Andrew were properly impressed with Hayley's invitation to tea. After dinner, the three women worked into the dark hours of the evening, chatting companionably, sewing and stitching. Callie stayed with them, along with Miss Josephine, until the child could no longer stay awake. She fell asleep on the settee in the drawing room, her arms wrapped around her doll.

"There! I think that about does it," Pamela said, standing up and stretching. She glanced at the mantel clock. It was nearly
midnight
.

"Try it on, Hayley dear," Aunt Olivia said.

They assisted Hayley, settling the gown over her chemise. Aunt Olivia had cleverly inserted a lace panel into the back of the dress, so the bodice fit perfectly. A cream ruffle surrounded the bottom of the gown, the material taken from an old gown of Pamela's that no longer
fit.
Aunt Olivia had added a cream-colored velvet bow just under the bustline.

"It looks beautiful," Pamela enthused, walking all around Hayley. "Absolutely perfect."

"The countess will be most impressed," Aunt Olivia predicted with a smile.

"Provided I don't do anything to disgrace myself," Hayley said.

"I'm sure she'll love you," Pamela said, helping her remove the gown. "Just as everyone does."

A wave of sadness washed over Hayley.
No, not everyone.

* * *

An elegant black coach, its lacquered doors emblazoned with the Blackmoor family crest, pulled up to Albright Manor at precisely
eleven o'clock
the next morning. The entire Albright household, including
Pierre
, escorted Hayley to the door. She hugged them all, promising to relate every detail about her day when she arrived home later that evening.

A liveried footman helped Hayley into the carriage, and they were off, amid shouts from the children and much hand-waving.

Once her family was lost to her sight, Hayley settled back and surveyed the inside of the coach. She'd never been in such an elegant conveyance before. She ran her hands over the thick burgundy velvet squabs, her fingers sinking into the softness.

With a sigh she sat back, watching the countryside roll by. Once they reached
London
, she watched the scenery change as they left the rundown sections of the city and entered the more fashionable district. Hayley looked at all the well-dressed ladies and gentlemen strolling along, and the elegant shops and town houses. The carriage finally drew to a halt in front of an impressive brick town house. The footman opened the carriage door and assisted her down.