Undesirable Liaison (8 page)

There could be
no doubt he was referring to his wife. Flo tried to ignore a
sinking at her bosom.

‘Miss Pinxton
did not say, but I think it cannot have been long.’

A muscle
twitched in his cheek. ‘Pinxton, yes. Ever faithful, it would seem.
I never really knew the woman.’

‘She was
distressed,’ Florence ventured. ‘It was she who pawned the
gown.’

Jerome became
intent. ‘She did not know about the ruby then?’

Flo shook her
head. ‘And I did not tell her.’

‘Why not?’

‘It was not for
me to reveal what her mistress had evidently not desired her to
know. Besides, Miss Pinxton let slip the name of Langriville, which
led me to seek for a Peerage and trace you, my lord.’

He frowned
again. ‘Why? No, don’t poker up. Forgive me, but it is obvious you
are in want. If Letty was dead—’

‘You sound like
my sister.’ Florence became impatient. ‘Lord, does it need to be
said? If the owner of the gem was Lady Langriville, it followed
there must be someone with a right to it. Yourself, as it turns
out, or another Langriville.’

‘What if she
had not been titled?’ he pursued, determined to mine her actions to
their depths.

‘Then I should
have revealed the ruby to Miss Pinxton and given it to her.’

Jerome uttered
a mirthless laugh. ‘You are almost too good to be true, Miss
Petrie. I cannot think there are many women in your position who
would have done likewise.’

‘I thank you,
my lord, I think I have a shrewd notion of your opinion of my
sex.’

He was obliged
to laugh. ‘Do I seem to you severe? But didn’t you give me to
understand that even your sister had less integrity than you?’

‘Bel is only
fifteen. She is a child, and one cannot expect to find wise heads
on young shoulders.’

‘Do I take it
you are responsible for this child?’

‘Yes, but I am
able to provide for her without needing to steal. Or at least, I
shall be when I have found myself a post.’

Jerome eyed her
with a sliver of misgiving. Was there motive at the bottom of it
after all?

‘What sort of
post?’

She appeared to
have difficulty meeting his gaze. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Not in the
least. I am merely interested.’

Flo smothered
her embarrassment and looked him in the face. ‘My situation is my
concern, sir. I did not come here to discuss that.’

‘No, you came
to return this ruby.’ He held it up to the light, his air pensive
more than possessive. ‘A pretty stone. I remember it was one of a
set.’

‘Yes, I know,’
agreed Florence before she could stop herself. Not much to her
surprise, a frown was gathering on Lord Langriville’s brow. ‘You
are going to ask me how. Let me show you.’

Opening her
cloak bag, she pulled out the greatcoat dress. Taking it to the
light pouring in from the wide window, she pointed out to his
lordship, who followed her, the broken stitching in three
places.

‘This centre
one was where I found the ruby. It was most cunningly fashioned. A
little sack had been made to fit and was sewn into the coat. None
would have noticed it under the collar. Indeed, I almost missed it
myself. Had I not pinned the bodice across in order to tighten the
fit, I dare say I should not have felt it at all.’

Slipping the
gem into a fob pocket as if it was of no more account than a
pebble, Lord Langriville took the garment into his hands and
inspected the stitches. His voice was flat.

‘Ingenious.’ He
examined it closely for a moment. ‘Ah, as I thought. You see there,
the others are smaller, which is how the necklace was made up. Two
lesser jewels either side the large one. It makes sense she would
sell them first and keep the most valuable against an unknown
extremity.’

His finger
traced the stitching, and Flo watched the hardness come back into
his face. The dark eyes grew sombre, his tone soft.

‘Poor
Letty.’

Abruptly, he
thrust the dress at Florence and turned away, crossing to the table
where the butler had left the tray. From the window, Flo watched
him pour a glass of wine and toss it off. There had been no anguish
in his words, but the gesture was redolent with it. For the first
time, it occurred to her it was Lord Langriville who had been hurt,
and not his dead wife.

There was time
for no more. When he faced her again, he showed her a countenance
unnaturally bland. And that coolness of tone she had heard before
sounded as he spoke.

‘It must be
long past the hour for luncheon, and I am sure you are in need of
refreshment. Let me take order for it, and we will talk again. I
have questions that need answering.’

With which, he
strode from the room without a backward glance, leaving Flo feeling
peculiarly bereft.

***

The chaise was
well sprung and far more comfortable a vehicle than the one in
which Florence had made the journey from London. It was an outcome
wholly unexpected, to be travelling back in the Langriville
carriage, and in company with his lordship himself.

A tray had been
brought to her in the Little Parlour by Mrs Brumby, whose manner
was marginally more pleasant. The meal was plain, but welcome.
Several slices of cold beef were flanked by a wedge of ham pie,
with pickles on the side, both of red cabbage and beans. There were
in addition two fresh-made rolls, accompanied by a lavish supply of
butter—a luxury that made Flo’s mouth water—and a little platter of
sweetmeats, together with a small jug of lemonade.

Florence ate
with gusto, having no notion how long Lord Langriville intended to
keep her at Bedfont House. In the event, he did not reappear until
nearly an hour after she had finished eating, and with a totally
changed agenda.

‘I am going to
London, Miss Petrie. I desire you will accompany me. How did you
come here, by the stage? Then I hope it will not discommode you to
travel instead with me.’

He must have
seen reaction in her face, for his tone was testy as he added a
rider.

‘Surely you
cannot object to it? If nothing else, it may repay you for your
trouble. I need you to direct me where I may find Pinxton, and at
the same time, I may find out from you all I need to know.’

Florence was
left without a word to say. If the truth were known, it was a
blissful extravagance to be conveyed in a private vehicle, one she
had never been in a position to afford. Indeed, her memories
included but one or two journeys so made, and then her enjoyment of
the occasion was marred by the presence of Cousin Warsash.

For the first
mile or so, she was permitted to experience in silence her pleasure
in the cosy warmth of a hot brick at her feet and a carriage rug
tucked about her. Lord Langriville appeared to be ruminating, his
gaze fixed upon the changing view ahead, interrupted as it was by
the constant figures of the two grooms riding post to guide the
four horses drawing the chaise. When he at last spoke, an edge to
his voice threw a flurry of apprehension into Flo’s breast.

‘I should have
driven myself, but I wanted to talk to you. Besides, I hope to
return tonight and it is less exhausting to travel post.’

Florence was
moved to try and divert his purpose. ‘I doubt there is much I can
tell you, my lord. I am sure your questions must be better
addressed to Miss Pinxton.’

‘But Pinxton
cannot tell me what you made of anything you heard.’

Startled, Flo
looked round at him. The brown eyes were hard and that inflexible
set to his features was once again in evidence. Her pulse skipped a
beat.

‘What I made of
it?’

‘Come, Miss
Petrie,’ came the smooth response, ‘you cannot have failed to add
two and two together.’

Far from it,
but the last person with whom she wished to discuss her conclusions
was the injured party in the case. She opted for bluntness.

‘My lord, you
must hold me excused. I cannot possibly air my views on such a
subject, especially to you.’

Her gloved
hands were resting in her lap, and Lord Langriville seized upon one
of them, gripping it hard.

‘But I need to
know! Was she with that fellow still? I had heard the scoundrel had
left her, but I had no proof of it. Don’t gaze at me like a
startled rabbit, woman.
Tell
me. Tell me all you know!’

‘But I know
nothing, Lord Langriville. Release me at once!’

Flo’s fingers
squirmed in his grasp, but he reached out and seized her other
hand, imprisoning both. ‘No, you don’t, not again, you little
cat!’

This was not to
be borne. Florence ceased to struggle and instead glared into his
face.

‘I have no
intention of attacking you, my lord, but I will not be browbeaten
in this fashion. Let me go!’

With a sigh, he
did let go, throwing himself back against the squabs in a manner
Florence found petulant. His next speech bore out the
impression.

‘You are
damnably stubborn, Miss Petrie. I cannot imagine how you may fare
in the sort of post you are likely to fill. Or don’t you know
employers are rarely disposed to keep any in service who do not
know their place?’

‘Of course I
know that,’ retorted Flo, stung.

‘You are
argumentative and sarcastic,’ pursued his lordship, riding over
her, ‘and you have no control over your temper. I should doubt
whether you would last a week in any respectable household.’

‘This from you,
my lord,’ she gasped, outraged. ‘If we are to talk of temperament,
yours is as bad, if not worse, if I am any judge. Though I have
known you less than a day, I can tell that much.’

‘
Touché
.’ Once again she was startled by his sudden grin.
‘However, being an employer, I am under no obligation to conceal my
temperament.’

‘Except that of
being a gentleman,’ said Florence tartly, ‘had you not already
provided ample proof that such a consideration does not weigh with
you.’

The brown eyes
lit. ‘I have you, Miss Petrie. You are clearly intended for a
governess.’

Flo did her
best, but the bubble of laughter would not be suppressed.

‘I do sound
like one, I suppose. It comes from schooling Belinda, I dare say.
Only you have it wrong, sir. I have no desire to be a governess. I
dare say it will be only marginally more congenial, but I have
settled upon taking a post as companion.’

Jerome heard
her peripherally, his attention caught for the first time by the
girl’s countenance. He looked at it with interest, ignoring the
puzzlement that crept into the eyes—of a deep blue and shaped like
almonds. High cheekbones sloped down to a jutting little chin,
which gave evidence of that stubborn streak. Her hair, or what he
could see of it under the bonnet, was dark, unusual with such eyes.
Equally unusual was the tint of her skin. Intriguing. One could not
describe her as beautiful, but with a little effort from a capable
lady’s maid, she might be considered taking. Curiosity drove him to
question.

‘What is your
heritage?’

The black brows
drew closer. ‘I have none.’

‘Don’t be
obtuse. You were not dropped into the world out of the sky. I am
not enquiring into your circumstances, but your parentage. You have
an unusual combination of features, that is all.’

His words made
Flo feel a trifle crushed. Heaven knew why. It was not as if she
cared tuppence what the wretched man thought of her. She answered
simply.

‘My father was
Italian. I have inherited something of his look, or so my mother
said. I remember him very little.’

‘Is he
dead?’

She wanted to
prevaricate, unwilling to let slip any little detail that might
give rise to further question. Her history, such as it was, would
not bear telling. But pride, ever her downfall, would permit no
evasion.

‘I do not
know.’

Jerome waited,
but she offered no further explanation. He was tempted to enquire
into the reason, but the closed look upon the girl’s face gave him
pause. He had been too much a victim of vulgar question to inflict
that embarrassment upon another. His curiosity deepened, however.
It was at least a diversion of his thoughts. Anything to keep him
from the gnawing ache that settled upon him on learning of Letty’s
demise. And Aunt Phoebe had supposed he would be glad.

Glad? How, when
his imagination painted for him the dread picture of that delicious
countenance paled into death? The glorious hair, worn, as it had
been then, frizzed into a halo of gold, now lank and dull beside
the whitened face. His hands clenched and he closed his eyes hard,
willing the image away.

Just this
morning he had been derided for the possibility of pining for his
lost love. It was not love, never had been. Though he had fooled
himself at the time. But he had wanted Letty with a passion that
would brook no interference. Say what they would of her, all the
well-wishers who had his interests at heart, he had defied every
precept of prudence and common sense to marry her. And he had
reaped his reward with a vengeance. But he had never ceased to
desire her.

Had he been
secretly yearning all these years? Had there been a sneaking inner
hope that one day she might return? Had it been his motive in
keeping track of her whereabouts as best he could?

Damnation! He
had thought himself a man of principle and compassion, to be
concerning himself with the welfare of the creature who had
disgraced his name and his house. How little one knew oneself.

Ah, he had
accused himself of jealousy, and rightly. What else was it that
drove him to question the innocent female at his side? What could
she know of Letty—unless she had guessed how his wife had come to
grief? She was no fool, Miss Petrie. A pity she had no better
future in store than a life of drudgery. On impulse, he turned to
her.