Truly Yours (16 page)

“And your mother never credited a single one of the rumors.”

Lady Royce knew the truth, but Rex did not wish to think about that.

Amanda was asking, “Can you show me?”

“Show you?”

“How to judge the truth.”

“Hmm. The research has not been made public for national security reasons, but perhaps, since we are all friends . . . Look at Daniel carefully. I am going to ask him simple questions, and he is going to lie sometimes, say the truth sometimes.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are. What is your mother’s given name?”

“Cora.”

“There, did you see that?”

“What?”

“Watch again, more closely. Daniel, what is your mother’s given name.”

“C—” He saw Rex shake his head and changed his reply to Carolyn. He scratched his nose.

“Aha! You see, he blinked more.”

“I must have missed it. Let me try. Daniel, what is your middle name?”

“I never tell anyone!”

Rex laughed. Amanda pleaded. Daniel looked over at his cousin who silently mouthed, “Lie.”

“Ralston.”

Amanda set the violets aside. “I cannot tell.”

Daniel said “Good,” and stopped rubbing at his nose.

Amanda turned to Rex. “Do you like me?”

“Great gods, what kind of question is that?” Rex was blinking. His voice had raised an octave. His eyes were shifting from her to a grinning Daniel to the Staffordshire dogs on the mantel.

“Yes,” he croaked. “Do you like me?”

She did not hesitate, blink, or bleat. “Yes.”

Blue, and Rex’s heart swelled in his chest.

Amanda never knew she could be so forward. The proper young lady she’d spent twenty-two years refining seemed to have disappeared in jail. No female of breeding asked such personal questions of a gentleman she had known for two days, and without a proper introduction, to boot.

Amanda was no longer a lady in the eyes of polite society, whichever direction the trial took, so in a way she was more free to say what she thought, to think what she felt, to feel. Staring at the possibility of a sentence of death, or a short, brutal lifetime in prison, refocused one’s sights. Politeness, conventions, missishness—heavens, she had no time for that nonsense.

Lord Rexford—Rex—liked her, which somehow made her less of a burden to him. She could almost believe that a wealthy, well-born gentleman might truly befriend a penniless woman of no distinction but a murder charge and a blackened reputation.

He’d brought her gifts. He’d said he liked her. The world was not entirely bleak; not when violets bloomed and honest blue eyes smiled at her.

N
anny shooed the gentlemen on their way and ushered Amanda back to her bedroom. Tomorrow, the old nursemaid declared, missy might be permitted downstairs to take luncheon with the viscount and his cousin, although there was no guaranteeing the quality of the meal with the housekeeper doing the cooking.

And tomorrow, Nanny muttered on her way out, the countess had better come home, for all their sakes.

“She’s right, you know,” Daniel told Rex over a glass of sherry in the formal drawing room.

“That Miss Carville, Amanda, will be vastly improved by tomorrow? She has made a great recovery, hasn’t she? The lady looks as if a gust of wind could blow her away, yet she has withstood the storm. I think she is brave, for a female. Don’t you?”

Daniel scowled over his wineglass. “I think you aren’t thinking with your head. What I meant is Nanny is right that you need a proper chaperone here. Not good for the gal to be alone with us, you know.”

“Why? We’re here to help her, not destroy her health altogether.”

“When did you get so dense? It’s the chit’s reputation that has Nanny in a swivet, not her health.”

“When did you start worrying over the punctilios of polite society?” Rex countered. “And you such a pillar of respectability. Wasn’t it you swilling gin in a sty of swine a day or two ago?”

“I never said I was a model of proper behavior, and that’s the problem. Neither one of us is fit company for a gently bred female. A young, unmarried female,” he added, in case Rex had forgotten.

Rex raised his glass to that. He could barely trust himself not to bash her door in just to see her angel’s curls and sweet smile. Of course he wouldn’t stop in the doorway; not in his dreams, at least. In reality, he would never step over the line, figuratively or not. He did know the dangers, without any reminder.

Daniel was going on: “Rumors are already starting, that you’re setting her up here as your mistress.”

“Damnation!” Rex might wish it, but how dare anyone speak so ill of Miss Carville. And of him. “They think I would ruin a lady? And bring my lover here to the countess’s house? What kind of loose screw do they take me for?”

Daniel hunched his broad shoulders. “A spy and a slime, same as me. It’s a bad reflection on your mother, too, or that’s what the clucking tongues will say, with Aunt Margaret turning a blind eye on the situation.”

“The countess is not even here!”

“Exactly. I suggest we change a few minds tonight.”

Rex squeezed his still-swollen nose. “I am not ready for another bout of fisticuffs. And I do not see how drawing anyone’s claret will change the
ton
’s opinion of me or Amanda. Or Lady Royce.” Although the last was the last on his list of worries.

“Fighting won’t, but if you are seen out and about, at the clubs, a party, something fashionable, people will see that you aren’t hiding away, slinking in shadows. You have to assure them that you and Miss Carville are mere houseguests together, strangers under one roof, only until her health is restored and her situation is resolved.”

“That is what we are, strangers to each other.”

Daniel rubbed at his ear. “Best if you tell people she’s been near unconscious, under constant care of nurses and maids, which is almost true. You can spread that around Lady Arbuthnot’s daughter’s come-out ball tonight. Your mother would have been invited. Bosom bows, don’t you know.”

How would Rex know the countess’s friends? “A ball? You and I?”

“Actually, I thought you’d toddle ’round by yourself.”

“Think again. If I go, you go. Or else people might think you are back here, seducing the lady.”

Daniel smiled at the idea. “They might, mightn’t they?”

Rex vowed not to leave his cousin alone with Amanda ever again. “You are coming. We’ll do the pretty, act unconcerned, and tell people that Amanda is sick abed with Nanny watching, without bending the facts. Now that I think on it, going out might serve other purposes. We might learn something about Sir Frederick, too.”

“And we might get a better meal than the housekeeper here can provide. I hope your mother gets home soon, with her cook.”

Rex was looking forward to the countess’s return about as much as he looked forward to putting himself on display at Lady Arbuthnot’s. Both were necessary evils.

Daniel was starting to pull at the neckcloth Murchison had tied in an Oriental knot. They were barely through the receiving line where Lady Arbuthnot had lied through her teeth in greeting. The only truth she spoke was that unattached gentlemen were always welcome at debutante balls. Unattached gentlemen of means, they all knew she meant.

She promised to introduce them to suitable partners as soon as the dancing began—not her daughter, of course, whose card was already full. Her regrets for that circumstance were as red in Rex’s mind as the rash on Daniel’s neck. They, and their titles and estates, were good enough for someone else’s daughter despite their reputations, but not her own little chick.

The men murmured their gratitude for the lady’s kindness, and promised each other to play least in sight when she came matchmaking for her wallflowers. Rex was all for finding the card room. “It’s the men who will know about Sir Frederick’s debts.”

“But it’s the ladies we have to impress with Miss Carville’s respectability.”

They looked around the crowded, flower-bedecked ballroom, the young women like so many more blossoms in their frilly pastels. They were all fluttering lashes and fans, while their mothers gossiped, relating to each other every bachelor’s interests and income. A great many—too many for Rex’s comfort—calculating glances were directed at the cousins.

“Oh Lord,” he said, “we’d do better back at the front. The French have a whole army to aim at. We’re standing targets here.”

“It’s your red coat and all that gold braid.”

“It’s your great size. No one can miss you.”

Without further consultation, they retreated to the refreshments room.

“Lobster patties, my favorite.” Daniel forgot about the matrimonial-minded mamas and took half the platter onto his plate, itch also forgotten. Rex was too on edge to eat, but poured himself a glass of punch, which turned out to be sweet and insipid. They stood to the side, watching the crowds, noticing everyone noticing them.

A few older women, not wearing the white and pastels of the debutantes, smiled in their direction. The females did not have to say a word to make their intentions, and invitations, as clear as day. A few gentlemen came by on their way to the food table and nodded, more out of respect for Rex’s uniform, he thought, than for the cousins. They frowned at Daniel’s plate on their way back, sans lobster patties. One man asked after Rex’s father, after looking over his shoulder to make sure no one heard him. He scurried away as quickly as he could, without the glass of punch he’d supposedly come for.

“We’d do better at cards,” Rex decided out loud. “No one will speak to us here.”

Daniel was off refilling his plate and did not answer, but someone else did.

“Can you blame them for not speaking? I am astounded you had the gall to show your face at a respectable gathering.”

Rex looked over, to find himself the subject of a sneering scrutiny, through Sir Nigel Turlowe’s quizzing glass. Sir Nigel was the knighted barrister who had ruined his father’s career, who had rushed Miss Carville into jail, who appeared to have a grudge against the entire Royce family. He was a man of middle years, with his brown hair parted in the middle to make it look fuller. He had thin lips, too, a sharp, pointed nose and pale eyebrows and lashes. He reminded Rex of a lizard.

Rex did not bow. He curled his lip in return and said, “I myself am surprised at the indiscriminate quality of Lady Arbuthnot’s guests.”

Sir Nigel’s watery eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. Rex expected a forked tongue to come out of his lips. Instead the man said, “I do not appreciate your interference in my court case. Miss Carville’s guilt is a foregone conclusion and an easy conviction. Stay away from it.”

“I do not see the case that way.” Rex saw the man’s own yellow belief in his words, with a tinge of orange doubt, likely because of Rex’s involvement. So Sir Nigel believed Rex’s actions could change the outcome, which was encouraging.

Sir Nigel sneered again. “I do not care what you think, or what outlandish notions you have. Sympathy, chivalry toward Lady Royce’s connection, or your deviltry, nothing affects the facts. The woman is guilty and belongs in jail. If she does not appear for trial then it is on your head and on your honor, what there is left of it.”

Rex put his hand down, to where his sword would have been. Then he raised his other hand, the one with the cup in it, ready to throw punch in the dastard’s face along with his challenge. No man who considered himself a gentleman could accept such an insult. “Name your sec—
Agh
.”

Daniel’s elbow had landed in Rex’s ribs. The punch sloshed over onto Rex’s hand. Sir Nigel snickered.

“Don’t do it,” cousin Daniel whispered, cutting his eyes toward the gathering crowd. “He’s wanting you to make a fool of yourself, can’t you see? Besides, it won’t help Miss Carville’s cause to be defended by a hothead. And if you kill him, you’ll have to leave the country. Then what will she do?”

Rex raised his eyebrow as if to comment on Daniel’s sudden wisdom, which he accepted, given the moment to think. He dabbed at his hand with a handkerchief, then turned his head toward the barrister knight. “Perhaps you might wish to discuss my honor at Jackson’s Boxing Parlor. You’ll appreciate the odds, I am sure, fighting a cripple. No? Then Antoine’s Fencing Academy? Manton’s Shooting Gallery?”

“Everyone knows you are a crack shot.”

“And now everyone knows that your mouth is bigger than your manhood.” Rex spotted Lady Arbuthnot hurrying over, attracted by the circle around the two men. “That is,” he added for the lady’s sake, “your manners. It cannot be quite
convenable
, can it, insulting a fellow guest in our charming hostess’s home?” He bowed to that lady. “Especially since she was kind enough to accept myself and my cousin instead of Lady Royce, her original invitee. My dear Lady Arbuthnot, please accept my apologies.” He bent over her hand, but kissed the inside of her wrist, above her glove, instead of the air above her fingers as was customary. Then he winked at her.

“Dear boy. Of course I accept your apology.” She turned to Sir Nigel expectantly.

The knight pursed his thin lips. “I have done nothing for which I need apologize.”

Rex pointedly refused to look at the reptile, or address him. “No, my lady, he merely throws insults rather than punches. Luckily for him dueling is illegal.”

“Since when does the law matter to you?” Sir Nigel sneered again, turning to the crowd for their approval.

The gentleman who had asked after Lord Royce shook his head and said, “But it should stop you, sir, an officer of the court.”

An older man laughed out loud. “Seems more than Sir Nigel’s position keeps him from answering a challenge, eh?”

Sir Nigel turned apoplectic, with high color and heavy breathing. Rex wondered if he would save them all the cost of a bullet. Regrettably, Sir Nigel recovered enough to turn on the older gent. “I am no brute, proving my worth with my fists. Or bullying my way through life as if a title and wealth gave me the right.” He pointed back toward Rex and spit out, “Hear this, Rexford. That murderess’s parole is on your head. I will see you behind bars if she gets away—see if I don’t. And I’ll have that Dimm-wit Runner’s job, too. The old fool should have retired years ago.”