Smuggler's Lady (37 page)

“They will know perfectly well that I have you in charge,” he replied curtly, leading her down another passage. A startled maidservant provided the information that they would reach a side door onto the street by taking the staircase at the end of the corridor.

It was not an entrance used by the owners of the house, to judge by the rather worn carpet and the faded flock paper. “I am going to fetch your cloak.” Damian stood her against the wall. “If you move one inch before I get back, I'll have that dress off you and accept your far-from-subtle invitation right here!” So saying, he strode back the way they had come, leaving Meredith leaning against the wall, shivering in her damp dress in the drafty corridor, not at all prepared to put the threat to her test.

It took Rutherford ten minutes to find the maid with Meredith's cloak and to order his own chaise to make its way to the side door. By the time he returned to his errant mistress, his sense of humor had reasserted itself. “Shameless creature!” Wrapping the cloak securely around her, he could not hide the laughter in his eyes. “Just how did you contrive to slip past Nan? She would never have allowed you out like this.”

“She went to bed with a cold,” Merrie informed him, then sneezed herself.

“If you have made yourself ill with this prank, Merrie Trelawney, there really will be trouble!” Opening the door, he eased her out into the quiet side street. His chaise appeared round the corner and Meredith found herself bundled inside, enclosed in his arms, lapped by his body warmth. “When will you accept that I am more than a match for you in this business, my love?” His breath rustled against her hair. “Give up this plan please. It will not work and, if you hope to convince me that you are utterly abominable, you are wasting your time. I know it and have done so ever since I saw you sitting barefoot by the road in the middle of the night.”

“I wish you would not make light of this.” Merrie struggled vainly to sit upright. “There is something else that now makes it absolutely imperative that I leave Cavendish Square and society immediately.” She had not been intending to tell him of Devereux's proposal and subsequent disclosures, having the suspicion that he would blame her for making herself vulnerable to the situation, but he still seemed to treat her fears and intentions as a tiresome joke, and it were high time he faced reality.

“Enlighten me, pray.” There was a wearily patient note in his voice that infuriated Merrie.

“Gerald Devereux has Cornish connections. He was at school with Hugo and seems to know a fair amount about the Trelawneys,” she told him succinctly. “How long do you think it will take him to discover the truth about my late husband and the reality of my situation? Cornish society is so inbred, no one there would believe in a suddenly discovered connection between Blakes and Mallorys. He will know the truth in a trice.”

“Why would he want to find out what could only harm you?” Rutherford asked, allowing her to sit up.

Merrie did so, glad that at last she had his full attention. “I do not think he would want to harm me,” she said slowly, “but—but I interest him. He suspects that there is something between you and me, and I could not deny it outright. If something interests one, it is surely only natural to exercise one's curiosity, is it not?”

“Has he proposed to you?”

“Yes,” answered Merrie, wondering why she sounded self-conscious. “I thought he had accepted my refusal, but it seems—”

“That he was prepared to wait,” Damian broke in. “I did warn you, Meredith, several times.”

“I could not help his falling in love with me,” she said in indignant defense.

“And I do not blame him for doing so,” he replied with a dry little smile in the darkness of the carriage. “But you made no attempt to hold him at a distance. It is not surprising he should have thought there was still hope.”

“Maybe I was a little at fault,” she said with a sigh, “but inadvertently. However, admitting that does not alter the situation. If he makes inquiries, he will discover the truth. Perhaps he will say nothing, but supposing he does? Your mother would never forgive you for practicing such a deception. I am not ashamed of what I am and would gladly face her with that truth, but for her to discover this falsehood from some other source, for her to be exposed to society's pity in that way ...” She shuddered. “I cannot bear to think of it, Damian. It makes me feel smirched and—and slimy!”

“Now you are being just a little melodramatic, my love,” said Damian quietly. “But I do take your point. You will leave this business in my hands.”

“Let me remove to Highgate,” she pleaded, knowing that it was the last time she would ever ask.

“No,” he said with decisive finality. “Let me announce our engagement, then Devereux will have no reason to look into your background, and we may give my mother an edited version of the truth.”

Meredith replied sadly, “I am not so mad as to believe that once the grand passion has died down, as it surely will, love, the chasm between us will not gape at our feet. I will
not
risk your happiness.”

“You will destroy it, then,” he told her flatly, as the chaise came to a halt. “By what right do you assume responsibility for my happiness? The consequences of my actions are mine to bear.”

The footstep was lowered and he alighted nimbly, holding his hand for her. “I am going out of town for several days. I will also deal with Devereux. In my absence you will be pleased to behave yourself. If you get up to any more of your tricks, Meredith, I will make you very sorry. You would be wise to believe that.” Merrie flushed in angry discomfiture but said nothing, knowing from experience that, when Colonel, Lord Rutherford, spoke in that particular tone, there was no possible dignified response.

He accompanied her into the house, explained to Grantly that Lady Blake had been taken unwell, kissed her hand with the recommendation that she repair instantly to bed, and left.

In her chamber, Merrie thankfully stripped off the chilly gown that she knew she could never bring herself to wear again, warmed herself before the fire, then dived into bed. Damian had accused her of taking responsibility for his happiness, but was he not also guilty of taking responsibility for hers? How could she be happy if marriage to him ensured that he was not?

She slept eventually, desolate in the certainty that her makeshift plans would never achieve her object. She must do what she should have done from the first, putting aside the childish methods that sprang from childish hopes.

For the next two days, Meredith kept to her room, waiting for Damian's return so that she could inform him of her decision to return to Cornwall. It was not a decision he could argue with, not a matter on which he could impose his own will. While she remained in London, she gave tacit agreement to his arrangements, and he had taken ruthless advantage of that. The only way she could prove to him that she was serious was by leaving. Her heart shrank, however, from the inevitable confrontation even while she told herself that he had no right to object and must, in honor, accept her decision without demur. She was obliged to acknowledge the unpalatable truth that, if she could have quietened her conscience sufficiently, she would have yielded to cowardice and fled London in his absence.

During her self-imposed seclusion she was visited only by Arabella who, although she appeared much more subdued than usual, sad even, made no reference to Merrie's shameless conduct. With her brother's permission, she had told a little of their guest's extraordinary story to her husband, who deserved some explanation. The marquis had not been particularly mollified by the little she could tell him. He found it quite inexplicable that any woman should go to such lengths to avoid a brilliant marriage, particularly a woman who, he had thought, possessed more than average sense. He expressed the opinion that Rutherford would do well to forget the widow. Clearly she should never have been transplanted from the soil of Cornwall to the rarified London air, and the sooner she returned, the better.

Arabella did not, of course, impart any of this to Meredith, but neither was she as full of plans as usual. On the contrary, she encouraged her guest to keep to her room until she was quite certain she had thrown off her cold and was in no danger of the influenza.

Meredith drew her own conclusions. All her instincts told her to confront the subject with Arabella, but the thought of upsetting her hostess even further kept her in unhappy silence, pretending that nothing had happened, that she just had a simple cold and was a little fagged by the unceasing round of entertainment.

Nan, seeing little evidence of genuine illness, demanded an explanation for this pale-faced malingering. She received a judiciously censured version that nonetheless set her head nodding with comprehension. Something had to be done to break the deadlock, and Nan waited with patient trust for Lord Rutherford to make a move. Unfortunately, the one he did make had the opposite of the desired effect, sending Meredith into a passion that eclipsed all considerations of conscience and courtesy.

Rutherford had finally decided that matters were running out of hand. Their secret was now threatened, and, even if he dealt with this threat, there was always the possibility of others. It was time to bring an end to the deception. Since his own powers of persuasion seemed sadly inadequate, he would enlist support from an unexpected quarter. Before doing so, however, he paid a visit to Gerald Devereux. That gentleman received the bland statement that an understanding most definitely existed between Lord Rutherford and Lady Blake with a small nod and the offer of sherry. Rutherford accepted before going on to explain in the same bland tone that her ladyship, for family reasons to do with her brothers, wished to keep the engagement secret. She had felt she owed Mr. Devereux an explanation, but delicacy forbade her giving it to him herself. Rutherford was, therefore, her messenger. He was sure Mr. Devereux now understood the position perfectly. Mr. Devereux assured him that he did, and the gentlemen parted amicably: one satisfied that the explanation, while tenuous at the moment, would achieve unimpeachable credence the minute the notice of the marriage appeared in the
Gazette;
the other, remembering Lady Blake's declaration that she did not intend to marry Rutherford or anyone else, remained intrigued. But chivalry required that he accept Rutherford's statement at face value at least for the time being.

Within the week, the postman, in scarlet coat and cockaded hat, delivered three letters to Cavendish Square, addressed to Lady Blake.

Meredith, returning from a stroll in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour of five and six, recognised the handwriting on all three missives immediately and felt an instant sense of foreboding. All her correspondence was sent to a poste restante address and collected from there by a footman. Why then were her brothers writing directly to Cavendish Square when they had no idea she was here? But it seemed that they did know now, and, if they knew that, then how much more had been revealed and by whom?

Excusing herself to Bella, she took the letters and went upstairs. What she read left her shaking with rage. Rutherford had visited Hugo at Oxford, Rob and Theo at Harrow ostensibly to invite them all to spend Christmas at Rutherford Abbey, but the ulterior motive was clear. All three thought it capital that Meredith had met up with Rutherford in London and was now staying with his sister. Their opinions were expressed with their usual individuality. Hugo was restrained although he said Rutherford had entertained him to dinner in a most elegant fashion, and they had had a very sensible conversation about the Church and about running an estate the size of Pendennis. If Merrie wished to be at Rutherford Abbey for Christmas, then Hugo would be happy to join the party. Theo declared that Lord Rutherford was quite splendid, not at all toplofty, and all the fellows at school had been green with envy when he'd taken him and Rob out for exeat in a bang-up curricle with a team of grays. It was a pity they'd had to take Rob, but his lordship had insisted. If Merrie was intending to marry Lord Rutherford, Theo had no objections and was looking forward to Christmas at Rutherford Abbey. They'd need evening clothes, though, since all the fellows said it would be very grand. Rob seemed to have difficulty finding sufficient superlatives. Not only had Lord Rutherford persuaded the Master to allow Rob to go on exeat, although first years were not allowed to leave the grounds, he had also brought enough tuck to feed the entire first form. They'd had luncheon in the town and a minute description of this repast followed. The letter ended with an impassioned plea that they spend Christmas at Rutherford Abbey because his lordship had promised him and Theo that they should join a proper shoot, and Rob was determined to bag the most grouse.

How dared Rutherford involve her brothers! It was one thing to employ underhand cunning when only she was affected. But to ingratiate himself with the boys, to show them what benefits there were in having such a magnificent figure for friend and relative! To imply that he and their sister were in a fair way to coming to an understanding! To dangle the riches and entertainments of a society Christmas before someone as susceptible as Theo! It was quite unpardonable.

Meredith left her boudoir, closing the door with a barely controlled slam, making her way to Arabella's apartments.

“Whatever is it?” Arabella looked at her friend's ashen face, blazing eyes and set lips.

“I beg your pardon for being so precipitate, Bella, but I shall be leaving for Cornwall in two days.” Merrie struggled to calm the tremor in her voice.

“But why?” Bella faltered, aghast. “It is not because of that business the other evening, surely? Because no one has said anything, or—”

“No, it is not that,” Merrie interrupted. “At least, not directly. It was foolish of me, and I have been meaning to apologize to you for it. Your brother just makes reasonable action impossible at times.”

“Oh, please, do not refine too much upon it,” begged poor, bewildered Bella. “But I do not understand why you will not marry Damian when he wishes it so much.”

“Your brother has been accustomed to having his own way for too long,” Meredith said, quite unable to hide her own anger. “When he is thwarted, he becomes depressed and disagreeable. He did not wish to leave the army and suffered black moods that made everyone miserable until he decided he wished to marry me and so forgot about the army.”

“I think you are being unfair!” Bella sprang to her brother's defense. “He was very unhappy after his furlough, but that was because he had always been a soldier and he did not know what else to do.”

“So he decided to marry a totally unsuitable Cornishwoman,” Merrie replied bluntly. “That gave him plenty to do and blinded him to the intransigent differences between us. I am not his equal in either rank or fortune, and it matters not that society believes otherwise.
I
know the truth. If things went wrong between us, I could not endure the humiliation of that truth, the knowledge that by marrying a duke's heir, all my material problems had been dissolved with one wave of the wand, and I was now responsible for making the fairy godfather unhappy because I did not fit in his world.”

“But you do fit,” Bella protested, “except when you choose not to.”

Meredith frowned. What that true? Did she sometimes
choose
not to? If that were so, then she could always choose the other path. She was still too enraged, however, to puzzle over that novel thought. “I am not the stuff of which duchesses are made, Bella,” she said, her voice quite calm now. “Damian persists in ignoring this fact. He will not accept what I
can
offer him, and what he has just done makes it impossible for me to remain under your roof any longer. I must leave immediately, although”—smiling, she took the other woman's hand—“I shall miss you, my dear friend.”

Arabella began to weep. “But what has he done?”

“You must ask him yourself,” Meredith said. “I am not a tattletale. Please do not cry, Bella.” The request went unheeded and Meredith stood by helplessly, unwilling to leave her so distraught but quite unable to do or say the one thing that would restore Bella's customary good cheer.

“You do not love him then?” Bella found her handkerchief and snuffled, pathetically red-eyed.

Meredith sighed, shaking her head sadly. “If that were true, my dear, I would marry him tomorrow. If I did not love him, I would not care if I made his life a misery.”

Leaving Arabella then, she returned to her own boudoir where she informed a grim-faced Nan of their impending departure.

“And just what bee have you got in your bonnet this time?” Nan demanded. “Seems to me you don't know when you're well off, my girl.”

“I do not wish to discuss it,” Meredith said coldly. “You will pack only those things I brought with me, please.” She marched into her bedchamber, emerging pale, red-eyed, but firm of purpose an hour later. They would have to travel by stage coach at least as far as Honiton since she could not begin to afford the cost of a post chaise for the entire journey. In the morning, she would go to the George in the Strand and reserve their places on the waybill. It would be an horrendously uncomfortable journey, but there was little point in complaining.

Damian, blithely unaware of these events, passed a pleasant evening with friends, intending to call in Cavendish Square on the morrow, having decided that he had left Meredith to her own devices for long enough. On returning to his house after dinner, however, he found a hastily penned, distraught scrawl from his sister: Bella did not understand anything, but Merrie was going home to Cornwall and, if he intended to prevent her, he had best make haste.

It was too late to seek an explanation that night so Rutherford was obliged to bide his time until the morning, which found him, at an unconscionably early hour, in Cavendish Square.

Grantly, upon informing his lordship that the ladies were not yet up, found himself holding my lord's hat and gloves while their owner mounted the stairs to the upper region two at a time. Damian walked without ceremony into Meredith's boudoir where he found her, in a simple morning wrapper, packing her dressing case. A dour-faced Nan was folding gowns preparatory to laying them in the trunk standing open beneath the window.

“What the devil is this nonsense?” Rutherford demanded.

“I am going home,” Meredith informed him. “I was about to write you a letter.”

“I am honored,” said he, sarcastically. “However, it will not do. Will you please get dressed? We shall go to Highgate where we may discuss this nonsensical business properly.”

“There is nothing nonsensical about it. If you have anything to say, you may say it here. I have a great deal to do this morning.”

“Meredith, must I request you again to get dressed?” There was a distinct note of menace in the usually level tones, but Merrie was beyond caution. A panicky feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that she could not afford to be alone with him, and the fear merely increased her legitimate anger.

“I am going nowhere, my lord. I will, of course, do you the courtesy of listening to whatever you may wish to say.” She began to roll up a pair of long evening gloves with hands that shook slightly.

Nan sniffed derisively and Rutherford said, “Very well, if you wish to take the hard road, that is your choice. Since you will not dress yourself, I must do it for you.”

Before she could guess at his intention, he had swept her off her feet and carried her to the chaise longue where he sat down, imprisoning her legs between his own, holding her wrists in one large hand behind her back while he began unbuttoning the wrapper with his free hand.

“Stop this!' 'Meredith spoke with fierce desperation, jerking at her captive wrists. ”You cannot compel me in this manner.”

“Can I not?” he replied grimly. “Nan, bring me a driving dress.”

“Nan, don't you dare!” Meredith exclaimed.

“I've waited nigh on twenty-four years to see you broke to bridle, Meredith,” Nan announced, shaking out the folds of a dark-green driving habit. “If you'd be a little less worried about the happiness of others, then maybe you'd find your own. It's as plain as the nose on your face where it lies.” So saying, she tossed the dress over Merrie's head.