“I am not missing it at all, Lady Petra,” replied Bryony untruthfully.
Petra smiled. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that, for feeling homesick is the most wretched thing imaginable. I should know. I endured it endlessly when I first married Lowndes.”
Delphine patted the sofa beside her. “Do sit down, Petra, and take some tea with us.” She nodded at the waiting footman. “Some fresh tea, if you please.”
“Yes, my lady.” He bowed and withdrew.
Petra sat down, teasing off the fingers of her kid gloves. “I shall be glad of refreshment, for riding in all this heat is a fine thing, but it gives one a horrid thirst. I would not have ventured forth, but I simply couldn’t molder away at Tremont any longer.”
Bryony looked up quickly at the use of the phrase “molder away,” for Petra had used it in her letter to Sebastian to describe the fate awaiting his bride. “Do you find it dull here in Cornwall, my lady?” she asked with apparent innocence.
“Very,” replied Petra. “There is absolutely nothing for one to do.”
“Then why do you not return to Town?” The question should have sounded harmless, but it came out as exactly what it was—a rather tart suggestion.
Delphine glanced at her in surprise, and Petra paused for a moment, undecided as to how to take such a remark, but then she smiled again, “Is that what you prescribe for my malady, Miss St. Charles? Well, to be sure it does seem the obvious thing to do, but the truth is that London means Lowndes, who is in residence at our house in Hanover Square. My husband is a disagreeable monster, and therefore the boredom of Cornwall is infinitely to be preferred to the prospect of a Season when he could be encountered in every drawing room.”
Delphine cleared her throat and flashed Bryony a cross look before addressing Petra again. “I was only thinking this morning that one of your famous water parties would be the very thing. Will you hold one soon?”
“Do you know, the very same thought crossed my mind as I rode over here. I was passing the lake when it suddenly occurred to me that I have been very lazy of late and that I should busy my idle self with arranging an assembly and a water party.”
She smiled at Bryony. “Everyone who is anyone in Cornwall is agog to see you for the first time, Miss St. Charles, and at the moment their first opportunity will be at the Polwithiel ball, which I know Delphine will forgive me for saying is a somewhat formal affair. The informality of one of my assemblies the day before would, I am sure, be much more pleasant for you.”
“How kind you are to think of me, Lady Petra,” replied Bryony in a flat tone.
Petra was a little uneasy. “As the ball is to follow the next evening, I think we must restrict dancing at the assembly. What do you say, Delphine?”
“Oh, I agree. Besides, one tires of the same dances all the time.” Delphine flushed, avoiding Bryony’s eye, for suddenly the specter of Captain Mackintosh’s Fancy loomed rather large before them.
Petra smiled. “I thought instead that there must be a great deal of chitter-chatter, much perambulation around the house and gardens, far too much money lost at the wicked card tables, and then a dazzling display of fireworks to bring the evening to a close. Everyone will then go to bed until at least noon the next day, and then sally forth to the lake for my water party—weather permitting, of course. If I tempt them all with enough iced champagne, they should be suitably merry by the time the ball commences, which will wreck any chance of that function being too stuffy and staid.”
Delphine laughed, and conversation ended for a moment as the footman returned with another tray of tea. When he had withdrawn and Delphine had poured three fresh cups, the conversation then turned upon an entirely different subject. Delphine sat back, sipping her tea for a moment, as if undecided upon how to broach a rather difficult subject. “Petra, I hope you will not be offended, but I believe that one of your tenants possesses a large gray lurcher which has been worrying our sheep.”
Petra looked taken aback. “One
of my
tenants?”
“So I believe. The wretched hound has attacked several times now and our shepherds are complaining to Felix about it. Felix is not well pleased, as you can imagine, especially as those same shepherds have already been complaining about one of our grooms, saying that he exercises the horses by riding them through their flocks. Felix cannot abide having to deal with complaints, and before he left for London he was much put out by this business with the lurcher. I thought I would warn you, for you know what my brother can be like when he is angry.”
Petra raised a wry eyebrow. “Yes, my dear, he’s a positive boor. But as to this gray lurcher, I swear that it has nothing to do with Tremont Park. I know the lurchers owned by my tenants—and by the poachers, come to that—and they are every color under the sun except gray. I would swear upon the Bible that that is so. Please inform Felix that he need not come to see me being disagreeable and oafish, for I will not have it. He’ll be sent packing with a flea in his elegant ear, of that you may be sure. Your brother can be charm personified when he tries, but he does not try very often, and when he is being his usual arrogant self, I find him positively poisonous.”
Petra smiled. “As I’ve told him to his face on more than one occasion. My criticisms appear to bounce off the wretched fellow—he’s too hardened by far. I pity the woman he eventually marries, for she’ll have a great deal to put up with. Goodness, is that the time? I was supposed to be receiving my land agent half an hour ago and it completely slipped my mind!”
Petra put down her cup with a clatter and began to put on her gloves. “I
knew
there was something I was supposed to be doing this afternoon, but I couldn’t for the life of me think what it was. Your talk of complaining tenants has quite brought it back to me.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll put arrangements for the assembly and the water party in hand, and between us we’ll liven up this dull summer.”
Delphine accompanied her down to the quadrangle, and Bryony waited in the solar for Delphine to return. Meeting Petra again had quite put her out, for although she had held her own, she had been forced to remember that the way to marriage with Sebastian was not by any means clear.
The door of the solar opened and she looked up expecting to see Delphine, but instead it was a footman bringing her a letter on a silver plate. She took it, thinking it must be from her father, but then she froze, for the name and address of the sender were written on it.
Mr. A. Carmichael, Castle Ennis, County Down, Ireland.
Petra had been at work again.
Her hands were trembling as she broke the sealing wax and began to read. The letter implored her not to forget her true love, to turn away from all thought of marrying Sebastian, and to go back to Ireland, where lay her only chance of true happiness. It reminded her of stolen moments which had never taken place, of kisses which had never been shared, and of whispered promises which had never been uttered.
It was a masterly forgery, and anyone merely picking it up without knowing would believe that it had come from Anthony Carmichael and that there had indeed been an understanding which she was now faithlessly breaking. But it was all Petra;
she
had written it and
she
had
left it where it would be found and brought up to her victim. No doubt the intention had been that it would be delivered when the duchess was present, for that was how it would do its evil work to best advantage, but instead it had been brought when Bryony was alone, when there was no one to see.
The door opened again and she hastily began to conceal it, but it was only Delphine. Delphine looked at her in surprise. “Is something wrong, Bryony? You look very pale.”
“No, nothing’s wrong.”
Delphine studied her for a moment and then went to sit down again, folding her hands neatly on the lime folds of her gown and then looking once more at Bryony. “There
is
something wrong, I’m sure of it, and I am hurt to think that you cannot confide in me.”
“Oh, please don’t be hurt,” said Bryony quickly.
“Then tell me.”
Slowly Bryony took the letter from behind her back. “This was given to me a moment ago.”
“What is it?”
“Read it and you will see for yourself.”
Puzzled, Delphine took the letter and began to read. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “Oh, no! What an infamous fellow he is! Oh, if Mother had been here when it came, I dread to think what she would have done!”
“You do still believe in my innocence, don’t you?” asked Bryony anxiously. “You don’t think I’ve been fibbing all along?”
“Of course I believe you,” said Delphine gently. “Indeed, I think this odious Mr. Carmichael should be hanged for what he is doing. Would you like me to write to Felix and ask him to warn the fellow off?”
“Oh, no! Please don’t do that!” said Bryony hastily, imagining what Felix would say to such a communication.
“But he could see that it is stopped.”
“I would rather you did not write to him.” Bryony lowered her eyes for a moment. “Mr. Carmichael is not behind all this, Delphine.”
Delphine stared. “I beg your pardon?”
“It isn’t Anthony Carmichael, it’s someone else, someone much closer.”
“But it
has
to be him!”
“This letter has not been through the mail, Delphine. Look at it and see for yourself.”
Delphine looked more closely at it, her face becoming a little pale. “Who do you think it is then?” she asked.
Bryony hesitated. How could she say it was Petra, who was so very welcome at Polwithiel Abbey and who had appeared to extend the hand of friendship? She met Delphine’s earnest gaze again and decided to tell her. “It is the Countess of Lowndes,” she said quietly.
Delphine rose slowly to her feet, her dark eyes wide. “Surely not!”
“I am serious about this, Delphine. Mr. Carmichael has no reason to write this letter to me, nor had he any reason to communicate with the duke or inscribe that miniature as he apparently did. But the Countess of Lowndes has very good reason indeed.”
“Because she is Sebastian’s mistress and wishes to discredit you? But, Bryony, what purpose would it serve? She is married already and can never be his wife, for Lowndes will not release her. Besides, she knows Sebastian will always be hers.”
“I know all that, but I also think that she is a jealous mistress, Delphine—she doesn’t want him to marry
anyone,
even someone like me.”
“You seem almost as if you know something I do not.”
Bryony looked at her for a moment. Should she tell her everything? She had gone this far; what point was there in shrinking from revealing the letter to Sebastian? She picked up her reticule and took it out. “This was hidden in my purse during the night I spent in Falmouth. Someone broke into my room in order to put it there.”
Delphine stared at her and then read the letter. Her face became more and more pale, and when she had finished it she looked quite shaken. “It’s a horrid letter,” she whispered, “and I would not have believed it of her, or of Sebastian for that matter. Oh, I know I’ve quarreled with him because of his conduct with Petra, but I still would not have thought he could be so cruel as to intend this for you. Oh, my poor Bryony, how awful you must have been feeling ever since reading this. No wonder you were disagreeable with her. I marvel you did not strike her, for I believe that I would have done so had I been in your position. To think that she sat beside me, exuding all that sweet friendship and concern! Oh, she’s infamous,
infamous!”
With a shudder she tossed the letter onto the tray next to the teapot. “You cannot possibly be still considering the match, Bryony. Say that you are not! Please declare off, for I cannot bear to think of you suffering the marriage they intend for you!”
Bryony looked away. “I have to marry him if I can,” she said quietly, “because of Liskillen’s debts. The marriage will save my father’s estate. I must not forget that.”
“I cannot believe that you are placing such a thing before your entire happiness.”
“Liskillen is all we have, Delphine. Besides, if I withdraw from the match and we lose Liskillen, what happiness will there be anyway? My father adores every acre of that estate, and his health is very frail, more frail than ever since he has been worrying about his debts, and if he were to lose Liskillen now, I dread to think what would happen to him. I love him too much to put my happiness first.”
Delphine put a quick hand on her arm. “Forgive me, I did not mean to speak out of turn. So you truly mean to go on with the match?”
“If I can. Petra is a very clever adversary, and it could be that with her next move she will convince Sir Sebastian that I am everything that is wrong.” Bryony smiled a little wryly. “Perhaps he and I deserve each other, though, for we are both scheming and mercenary, are we not?”
‘‘He may be, but you are acting out of duty and nobility.”
Bryony looked quickly at her. “You will not say anything to anyone about this, will you? I’ve told you, and am relieved to have confided in someone at last, but I do not want it to go any further. It would serve no purpose. Your mother would not believe it anyway and would think it yet another example of my willfulness, your brother would prefer to ignore it, and Sir Sebastian would not be pleased, to say the least. Promise me, Delphine.”
Delphine hesitated. “Very well, if that is your wish.”
“It is.”
Neither of them had heard the duchess’s carriage returning, and they knew nothing of her presence in the house until quite suddenly the solar doors were flung open to admit her. Delphine gave such a guilty start that she knocked over the teapot, the hot liquid spilling everywhere and soaking Petra’s letter. But it was not of this letter that Delphine initially thought; it was of the one purporting to come from Anthony Carmichael. This she hastily sought to conceal from her mother’s sharp eyes.
The duchess exclaimed irritatedly when she saw the spilled tea, but she did not miss her daughter’s surreptitious movements. “And what is it that you are so desperate I should not see, my lady?” she demanded, advancing toward the dismayed Delphine. “If it is a communication from that disreputable Lampeter, then it will be the worse for you!”