The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel (6 page)

Almost, that was. No, Bessie wasn’t the woman to bring him to task. But she’d find the one who was. She loved him too much to accept failure; the memories of her own happy marriage comforted and strengthened the marchioness during dark times. And she longed for Dash to have the support of a loving wife.

Of course he’d mentioned Lady Scott, she reflected wryly. Cheeky boy.

But Miss Barnes’s visit offered the chance of a new beginning. True, Bessie had little to go on. Not one of her friends had been able to provide any real information regarding the baron’s daughter, other than that the
woman was smart. Too smart, most of them commented, arching their brows for emphasis.

The door handle rattled, startling Bessie into action. She spun quickly and scooted toward the staircase, then turned back as though she’d just that moment descended.

Too smart
, the marchioness thought. Well, she’d thrown women who were too pretty, too cultured, and too perfect in the viscount’s path with no success whatsoever.

Perhaps intelligence would rule the day.

The door opened wide, the bright spring sunshine beaming across the gleaming floors to where Bessie waited.

Miss Elena Barnes crossed the threshold and paused.

But not in that dress
, Bessie mentally made note. She was so eager to make Miss Barnes’s acquaintance that she found it necessary to purposely slow her steps as she crossed the expanse of marble. She drew nearer and the girl pasted a smile on her face—one she clearly did not feel in either her heart or her head. It wasn’t merely fatigue that marred her countenance. Bessie could hardly claim to know her thoughts, but the rise of Miss Barnes’s chest as she drew a quick intake of breath indicated what, precisely? Surely not fear?

“My lady.” Dash drew Bessie’s attention away from Miss Barnes. “May I introduce Miss Elena Barnes?”

The girl dropped into a polite curtsy and bowed her head, giving Bessie an unguarded moment to take in the whole of her. The dress did not improve upon closer inspection, the puce color and ill fit truly a crime of fashion. But the form beneath the drab gown was decidedly spectacular—not unlike Bessie’s own at that age. Her hair was a lovely mahogany brown, shot through with hints of gold. Unfortunately, the style brought to mind a terrifying governess Lady Mowbray and her sisters had endured during their childhood.

That governess and her particular hairstyle had met
with a most unfortunate accident involving honey, if Bessie remembered correctly.

Miss Barnes rose slowly and lifted her gaze.

No, Bessie thought with conviction, she’d not cover this woman in honey. But there was a great deal of work to be done. And much of it had nothing to do with frocks or coiffures.

For she was certain that was fear in the younger woman’s eyes.

“Miss Barnes, this is Elizabeth Mowbray, Marchioness of Highbury. Lady Mowbray will act as your chaperone during your stay at Carrington House.”

Bessie wanted to wrap her arms about the girl and assure her that all would be well. Instead, she acted the ever-respectable marchioness and nodded. “My dear Miss Barnes, it is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You see, I have no children of my own. I consider it a distinct honor to have such an opportunity. There is so much I would like to teach you.”

“The honor is all mine,” Miss Barnes replied, the placid smile remaining, though Bessie could have sworn she saw the girl tremble.

“Lady Mowbray, do refrain from frightening Miss Barnes, won’t you?” Dash teased as he gestured for Bell to approach. “Bell, see Miss Barnes to her chambers—in the
west
wing,” he ordered, his emphasis on the instructions not lost on Bessie.

Miss Barnes bowed her head once again. “Lady Mowbray, I look forward to seeing you at dinner. Viscount Carrington, I’m most eager to tour the library. Perhaps after I’ve settled in, you’d be so kind as to allow Mr. Bell to show me about the books?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Bessie replied before Dash could answer. “The viscount will do the honors.”

She bit back a smile as Dash clenched his teeth and nodded in agreement. “I can’t claim to know very much
about the books, but I would be happy to show you the library, Miss Barnes.”

“Very well,” Miss Barnes replied. She started up the wide marble staircase after Bell, pausing and turning to look back. “I will return within the hour. And if you’d be so good as to secure some foolscap and a writing instrument, I would be most grateful.”

She continued up the stairs, not waiting for Dash’s reply.

Bessie looked at Dash, smiling with delight.

“Why are you grinning as though you’ve just escaped from Bedlam?”

Bessie clapped her hands and nearly crowed. “She’s lovely.”

“Hmph,” Dash grunted in response.

“Oh, she needs a bit of love and care,” the marchioness added confidently. “But just wait and see, my boy. Just wait and see.”

“Rowena?” Elena exclaimed, entering her bedchamber and closing the door on Bell with relief.

The young maid stood before Elena’s open trunk, pursing her lips as she eyed the contents. “I’m afraid your dresses are creased something fierce, Miss.”

“I don’t care a tuppence about such things—as well you know,” Elena replied, walking purposefully to the wan girl’s side. “You’ve need of rest. And tea. A restorative cup of tea is just the thing.”

Elena took Rowena’s hand and urged her toward a charming pair of upholstered chairs. Pointing to the one closest, she waited until the maid settled onto the peach damask cushion before claiming the second chair.

“Now, tell me, are your quarters suitable?” Elena began. A silver tea service sat atop a low rosewood table. She prepared a delicate china cup with a splash of milk and two lumps of sugar, finishing it off with the aromatic tea.

She handed the cup and saucer to Rowena, ignoring
her friend’s squeak of protest. “You’re as white as limestone, Rowena. The least I can do is ready your tea.”

Rowena reluctantly accepted the gently steaming cup and sipped. “Must you always be worried about my comfort, Miss? Shouldn’t you be thinking about what dress you’ll be changing into?”

Rowena had been abandoned on the steps of Harcourt House as a newborn some twenty years before. She was rumored to be the by-blow of a local prostitute and a member of the aristocracy, though Elena’s father hadn’t bothered to confirm the story. His tender heart had found a child in need and for him, that was enough.

Five-year-old Elena had been instantly smitten with the baby, and her affection for Rowena had only increased over the years, as had Rowena’s for her. The two motherless girls had bonded and become fast friends, despite the differences of birth and station in life.

“I’m a bluestocking, Rowena. Defending women’s rights is what we do,” she chided gently. Rowena’s mysterious beginnings had always plagued Elena’s mind. What would have become of her dear friend if she’d not been dumped on their doorstep? The possibilities were chilling—and unnecessary. Equality and enlightenment were needed in their world, and Elena wanted more than anything to be a part of accomplishing that goal.

“My room is neat and tidy, just the way I like it,” Rowena assured her, adding, “I’m to share with Molly, one of the housemaids. Nice girl, if a touch talkative.”

Elena readied her own tea and sank back onto the damask cushions, weary from the long journey. “Is that so?” She gestured invitingly at the plate of cucumber sandwiches.

“No, thank you.” Rowena shook her head and took a second fortifying sip of the hot, sugared brew. “Molly went on and on, telling me about all the changes of late. Lord Carrington’s only been in residence a short while.
He’s nice enough, but keeps to himself. Now Lady Mowbray …”

Elena smiled at the twinkle in Rowena’s sky-blue eyes. “Yes?”

“Well,
everyone
knows Lady Mowbray—or her story, I should say. She’s terribly elegant. Invited to all the right parties and finest balls. How did Molly put it?” Rowena paused, appearing to consider her tea. “Oh, I remember now: ‘Lady Mowbray is one of the most influential ladies of the ton.’ The whole staff is in a dither over her presence.”

Elena returned the rose-patterned cup and saucer to the silver tray, her tea having lost its flavor.

“Oh, and over your arrival, of course, Miss,” Rowena added hastily.

“It’s not that, Rowena, but bless you for the effort.” Elena reached for a sandwich and took a bite, chewing contemplatively before swallowing. Her stomach rolled with worry and a growing anxiousness. “My last chaperone was a celebrated member of the ton, and as you know, that did not end well.”

Lady Hastings had been persuaded to sponsor Elena’s first season. Baron Harcourt had paid a moderate sum and the influential woman was engaged to take the awkward girl under her wing. Unfortunately, the widowed baroness forgot her duties all too soon, leaving Elena vulnerable to fellow debutantes who seemingly took pleasure in her unschooled ways.

Rowena set her cup and saucer on the tray and stood, her beautiful creamy coloring nearly returned to normal. “That was then, Miss. And this is now,” she said firmly. “Have some faith. Lady Mowbray might just surprise you.” She walked to the trunk and eyed the garments inside, a gentle huff of displeasure escaping her lips.

Elena sighed deeply. She hated surprises. They didn’t
fit into her well-ordered, predictable world. The very word “surprise” made her anxious. “Bite your tongue, Rowena Smith. Bite your tongue.”

Dash drummed his fingers on the arm of the upholstered chair as he looked about the library. He’d promised to give Miss Barnes the grand tour of the massive room. Actually, Bessie had offered him up, and then conveniently disappeared upstairs.

He couldn’t help but admire the man.
A right good agent Bell would have made
, Dash thought as he studied the room. Literally hundreds of books lined the shelves, the topics they covered as wide as his father’s interests—which had been vast, indeed.

Mathematics, religion, astronomy, history—the list went on and on. Dash had always admired his father’s thirst for knowledge, but his subsequent love affair with the mountain of volumes before him? That was something Dash had never understood.

Oh, Dash devoured books as voraciously as his father—if not more, when it came to particular areas of interest. But once he’d read a book, he had no need of it any longer. His mind captured the information so precisely that Dash could conjure up exactly what was printed on any given page at any time.

“How on earth will you be able to part with them?”

Startled, Dash looked to the entry. Miss Barnes stood in the doorway, her curvaceous form framed by the heavy oak molding. She looked at the room with wonder in her eyes.

“Easily,” Dash answered, standing and walking to her side.

She nodded in understanding, a small, pitying “Oh,” escaping from her lips as she took his arm and allowed him to escort her across the room.

Dash fought the urge to add “because I’ve read each
and every one—and committed them to memory, no less” but he didn’t, of course. To do so would be counterproductive.

And why should he care what she thought of him, anyway?

He led Miss Barnes to the shelves where the books on mythology were housed. “The Greek gods and such live here,” he explained in a bored tone, pointing to the volumes. “Well, they don’t live here, of course,” he added, laughing at the poor joke. “Romulus and Remus and all of that. Father said you were a student of such things. Is that true?”

Miss Barnes patted him gently on the arm before pulling away. “Romulus and Remus were Roman, my lord,” she gently corrected. “But yes, it’s true, I am a most enthusiastic student of mythology.”

Dash watched as she reverently ran her fingers over the volumes, stopping on a deep blue book and carefully easing it from its place.

Of course he knew that Romulus and Remus were Roman. But she’d taken the bait. That was always satisfying when it came to deceiving the bluestockings.

And what a bluestocking she was. Her knot was so severely fastened that Dash wondered if she was actually able to close her eyes. The tension provoked by applying such a number of pins surely caused the skin about her eye sockets pain.