The Incomparable Miss Compton (22 page)

But he could hardly ask for a tray to be sent to his room as if he were a doddering dowager down with dyspepsia. He would have to face them. The most he could hope for was that either Lord or Lady Prestwick would support him. And he rather thought he was done for if it were only Chas.

Appleby said little as he helped his master change. Indeed, he seemed to have taken Malcolm’s orders to be silent entirely too much to heart. Malcolm had seldom seen the fellow look more Friday-faced.

“I’d think you would be pleased with yourself,” he remarked as his valet finished a satisfactory knot in his cravat. “You managed to extract yet more money from me for your work. Or are you having second thoughts about that bribery?”

Appleby licked his lips, gaze darting everywhere but Malcolm’s face. “Bribery, my lord? To what do you refer?”

“One would almost think you were accepting bribes from more than one person,” Malcolm mused. He was half in jest; if he thought Appleby had so betrayed him, the fellow would not be standing in his presence.

“Certainly not, my lord,” Appleby intoned, but his hands shook as he took away the two failed attempts at a cravat. “However, I beg my lord to remember that I have served him faithfully for many years. Surely I can be trusted, despite what any others might say.”

“Surely you can,” Malcolm replied, narrowing his eyes. “Because if you can’t, you will no longer be employed.”

Appleby paled, but Malcolm had no more time for discussion. If he waited any longer, he would be late. And he didn’t want to give anyone that satisfaction.

Their hosts had been having everyone gather in the forward salon before going in to dinner each evening. As he had expected, Malcolm found the Misses Compton as well as Lord and Lady Prestwick awaiting him. Standing in a group near the fireplace, they broke off conversation as he entered, heightening the sense that he had become the enemy. Anne, however, was all smiles as he approached.

“Good evening, my lord,” she said as he bowed to the group. Straightening, he could not help noticing that both Persephone’s and Sarah’s eyes were red-rimmed. He rather hoped Persephone’s tears had been caused by a fit of conscience. He didn’t like to think what had caused Sarah’s.

“Good evening,” he replied to Anne, managing to include them all in his nod. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“I’m sure none of us would be happy at dinner without you, my lord,” Persephone put in. Sarah sent her a quelling glance, which made the girl color. So, some confidences had been exchanged, but what exactly he could not tell.

“Well said, Miss Persephone,” Chas cheered. “Though you mustn’t think I mind being the only gentleman surrounded by such charming ladies.”

Anne smiled fondly at him, rising to take his arm, even as Persephone’s color deepened. Sarah’s smile at the compliment was strained. Malcolm thought Anne murmured something to her husband, for Chas turned to offer his other arm to Sarah. She hesitated only a moment before accepting it with a polite nod. Malcolm had no choice but to offer his arm to Persephone.

He wondered whether this gesture would encourage the girl, but if anything she looked more uncomfortable as they crossed the rotunda for the dining room.

“May I have a moment of your time later, my lord?” she asked so quietly he had to bend nearer to hear her. “I promise not to be impertinent.”

“Very well,” Malcolm agreed, thankful that he could hand the girl to her seat and escape to the other side of the table.

Unfortunately, there was no escape to be had. For all meals during the visit, Anne had seated him between Chas at the head of the table on his right and Sarah on his left. He had rather hoped he could count on Chas to keep the conversation flowing. Unfortunately, his host seemed obsessed with the conversation his wife was having with Persephone on her right. Malcolm tried concentrating on the food, a beef ragout that was excellent, but it seemed to him he could hear the silence on his side of the table even over the chime of his silver fork on the bone china.

He busied himself by mentally listing the acts yet to the brought to the floor next session and calculating their chances of success. He’d been to the next estate to see Brentfield and thought he knew how the fellow would vote, but Wenworth, whom they’d met last week, was still noncommittal. He’d have to see whether he could convince Prestwick to have a word with the fellow. Of course, it would be a lot easier if Sarah could talk to her friend the Countess of Wenworth. Wenworth was obviously as doting a husband as Chas. In fact, he’d have said the same about Brentfield and his charming artist wife. What was it about the Somerset countryside that bred such intimate marriages?

And why wasn’t his to be one of them?

At length, he became aware that the silence had stretched. Sarah sat with head bowed, pushing her food about the plate. She was miserable, and he had caused it. Impulsively, he slid his foot until he pressed against hers under the table. She glanced up at him with a start.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I wish I knew what to say to bridge this widening gulf between us.”

She smiled ruefully, the silver misery in her eyes melting to blue. “If I’ve put you at a loss for words, this is indeed a gulf. But surely we are both of a mature nature and can overcome it, my lord.“

“The very fact that you are back to calling me ‘my lord’ should prove to you the truth of the matter,” Malcolm replied.

She shook her head. “Very well, Malcolm. I’ve been doing a great deal of thinking about this. All emotions aside, we simply have chosen to disagree. I imagine that happens fairly frequently in your vocation.”

“Certainly,” he acknowledged, feeling himself relax now that emotions were not part of the conversation. “But then several hundred of my closest friends civilly discuss the matter and vote on it, and we are bound by their decision.”

She made a face. “I would not like my private life run in such a manner.”

“Nor would I,” he assured her. Sharing her smile, he felt something constrict in the vicinity of his heart. They shared thoughts as easily as smiles, and kisses more easily still. “I wish I knew how to change your mind,” he murmured.

She reached out and touched his hand, a fleeting gesture, hastily withdrawn, yet surprisingly comforting. “Perhaps you can. You know my stance, Malcolm. And I know yours. Give me time to think. Who knows, perhaps I can change
your
mind.”

She returned her gaze to her food, but he found little of interest in his. She had no idea what she suggested. He had worked too hard, come too far, to place anyone or anything before his work. It was a vocation, really. He thought of the great men of history he admired -- Alexander the Great, Constantine, Jesus. They had been focused on a goal, and their personal lives, whether married or not, did not distract them. If he fell in love, wouldn’t he lose all? He shook his head. Sarah was right -- the one thing she wanted he could not give.

Chas chose not to linger over their gentlemanly discussion following dinner, so that Malcolm was not even given that reprieve to think. They rejoined the ladies in the forward salon, listening while Persephone played a series of airs on the pianoforte. Sarah sat next to Anne in chairs nearby. As Malcolm watched, Chas walked up behind his wife and placed a hand on her shoulder. His thumb tenderly grazed her ear. Anne’s hand came up to rest on his, holding him against her. Malcolm felt a stab of longing. How easily could he imagine such tenderness with Sarah. How difficult was it to imagine such a scene with any other woman. He was truly trapped.

Persephone finished playing, and Sarah and Anne argued good-naturedly as to who would entertain the company next. Malcolm could see the struggle in Chas. On the one hand, he clearly wanted Sarah to play so he could continue to stand beside his wife. On the other hand, he just as clearly longed to show off his wife’s talents. At last, Anne agreed to play. As she went to the instrument, Persephone made her way across the room to Malcolm’s side. He stiffened, but she did not turn away.

“I must apologize to you, my lord,” she murmured, eyes downcast.

Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest. “About what, Miss Persephone?” he asked, even though he suspected what she was about to confess.

“I attempted to force you to ask for my hand,” she replied in the same low voice. He had to admit she sounded suitably humble, but he could not be sure of her sincerity.

“And why would a young lady who is the toast of the ton need to do such a thing?” he asked.

She seemed to shrink even further into herself. “Please, my lord, do not make this more difficult for me. I had my reasons, and I realize they were wrong. The only reason to marry is for love. I knew that; I had simply forgotten.”

“I would wager you have your cousin to thank for the reminder,” he surmised.

“And my own heart,” she assured him. “But there is something else you must know. I had help invading your privacy. Mr. Appleby accepted money from me to let me in and ensure others knew about it afterward.”

Malcolm felt himself chill. So, Appleby had become greedy. Or had he? Could Malcolm believe the girl even in this? “Did he indeed?” he murmured with little conviction.

She nodded. “So you can see why I was so angry when he then asked you for more money to remain silent.”

That wasn’t the only thing Malcolm saw. Despite himself, he heard a ring of truth in the girl’s story. Appleby’s uneasiness that evening suddenly made sense. He had been afraid of just such a scene as this. He knew how Malcolm felt about treachery. Malcolm had warned him against it from the beginning. Friendly gossip was one thing. Selling his privacy was quite another.

“What will you do, my lord?” she asked, lifting her head at last to eye him solemnly.

“About you, Miss Persephone?” he returned. “Nothing. It would appear to me that your natural tendency toward goodness triumphed over your momentary lapse in good sense. Pray you do not let it happen again.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no, my lord. I’ve learned my lesson. What about Mr. Appleby, though? How do we know he will be discrete?”

“Leave Mr. Appleby to me,” Malcolm replied. “He has a comeuppance due. Now, dare I hope you will favor us with another song?”

She shook her head again, blushing. “I think I will retire, my lord. May I beg your escort to my room?”

She may have confessed, but he still did not trust her by half. He refused to allow himself to be entrapped again. “If rumors fly despite our efforts, it will do us no good to be seen alone together. I’m sure you understand.”

She nodded, bidding him goodnight, then went to take her leave of Sarah and their hosts. Her desultory manner apparently affected everyone’s mood, for it was relatively easy for Malcolm to make his excuses shortly thereafter.

His own mood was far from good when he saw that Appleby was waiting for him in his room. The valet moved forward to help him undress, and Malcolm held up a hand to stop him.

“Is something wrong, my lord?” Appleby asked humbly.

“Yes, Appleby,“ Malcolm replied, “it is. You’ve been very helpful in relaying gossip.”

Appleby cocked his head. “But, sir, that is what you asked me to do.”

“It was,” Malcolm agreed, moving into the room. “And for that I bear part of the blame. However, I never expected you to be so blasted good at it.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Appleby replied.

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Malcolm assured him. “However, let me return the favor. Rumor has it, Appleby, that you betrayed me. You put your monetary desires above my privacy.”

Appleby’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips, and Malcolm wondered why he had never noticed how much like a snake the fellow was.

“I have not heard such rumors, my lord,” his valet replied.

“Haven’t you?” Malcolm stepped closer, arms loose. Appleby apparently recognized the boxer’s stance, for he scuttled back so quickly he fetched up against the dresser with a yelp.

“Let me tell you some other rumors you will not hear,” Malcolm persisted, closing the gap. “You will not hear that Persephone Compton found her way into my bedchamber. You will not hear that I refused to marry her. Above all, you will not hear anything that would cause Miss Sarah Compton any embarrassment or pain. Do you understand me?”

“Certainly, my lord,” Appleby squeaked. “And may I say that your pay is certainly sufficient to keep me from hearing or repeating any such rumors.”

“No, I’m afraid it isn’t,” Malcolm replied. “You see, you may spend the night with the other servants here at Prestwick Park, but I want you out of the house before noon tomorrow. You will not get another cent from me, and you will not get a letter of referral. I’m afraid money can no longer be an incentive for your silence. Since loyalty never was, you will have to make do with fear.”

Appleby blinked, then flinched as Malcolm leaned closer. “F. . .f . . f. . .fear, my lord?”

“Fear, Mr. Appleby. You know the power I hold in this country. That alone should be sufficient. And if it isn’t, remember that if I ever connect you with rumors about me or anyone associated with me, I will cheerfully beat you to a bloody pulp. And that, sir, is no rumor. Now, get out of my sight before I change my mind about indulging my savage streak.”

White-faced, Appleby flew from the room.

Malcolm shook his head. Sarah accused him of not being able to show his emotions. Apparently it was only the tender mercies he lacked. He managed intimidation just fine.

It was a blasted sad thing to say about a fellow.

Chapter Twenty

Sarah didn’t get much time to herself until she retired for the night. Oh, she had indulged in a brief bout of tears right before dinner, but it had not been nearly enough to ease her tensions. She thought she had acquitted herself well at dinner, however, speaking to him as if they were the friends she had hoped they’d be. She had been calm and composed, the very picture of a lady. She was quite glad to escape to her room and throw the pillows against the wood-paneled walls.

That didn’t help, of course. The problem was a great deal deeper than could be fixed by a momentary fit of pique. She loved Malcolm Breckonridge, and he did not love her. Allowing herself to fall in love with him was a terrible mistake, but as she had not seen it coming, she supposed she could not have prevented it. There only remained to be seen what she could do about it now.