Barely a Lady (17 page)

Olivia held out her hand. “Thank you, then.”

With all the hesitation of a well-mannered servant, Chambers shook her hand and departed. Olivia was left with more questions than answers. Could anyone else tell them where Jack had been? Could she really trust Mr.Hilliard to help? And where was he?

As she stood alone in the shade of the garden, she noticed through the kitchen window that two of her other patients had arrived to sample the fresh scones. She could hear them teasing Mrs. Harper. By this evening, they would all be gone, and Lady Kate would have to think about returning to London. Somehow they had to take Jack along without exposing him. And Olivia found herself loath to let him go without her.

Depressed, she sighed. No woman in her right mind would think to reconcile with a man who had treated her as Jack had. She would be a fool to risk her heart, her very life, to him again. After all, she was not who he called to in his sleep.

For now, though, she couldn’t escape. Plastering a bright smile on her face, she opened the door into the kitchen, where brave men reminded her how high the stakes were in the game she played.

Tucked into a corner of the adjoining garden, the Surgeon watched Chambers take his leave of Mrs. Grace.
Finally,
he thought complacently.
Something interesting.

Gracechurch’s ex-valet was speaking to his ex-wife. Just what would those two have to say to each other?How would he find out?

He allowed himself a satisfied smile. How would he find out, indeed? He could think of a dozen ways, each one more delicious than the last.

He would enjoy convincing the valet to cooperate. But he already had a towering cockstand thinking about what he would do to the earl’s wife. There was surely a quote worthy of being carved into her soft white belly. Maybe something about the price of loyalty.

Yes, he thought, following the valet down the street. She would definitely be his best work yet.

He just hoped she didn’t succumb too quickly.

Chapter 13

T
here were days when Kate thought that being a duchess was highly overrated. This day was turning out to be one of them.

It had started out well enough. She had managed to escape the house for a bit of shopping and had actually thought she might have some blessed time alone. It was a lovely, cool summer day, and she risked her reputation once again by walking.

Her first stop was the Grand Place. Kate loved the great cobbled square with its gold-dipped medieval guild halls and inevitable clock tower. Today the wounded had gone and the flower sellers returned, and the quaintly gabled shops were open for business. Kate took great advantage of both, especially a cunning little shop that sold the most exquisite lace.

From there, she visited several friends, ending with the Uxbridges, who were putting up with the Marquis d’Assche around the Parc from her house. She left them with the flowers she’d just bought and the
on dits
she’d been collecting.

It was on the way home that she had her first inkling that the day was about to go wrong. Stepping onto the Rue de la Loi, she was brought up short by the sight of a man standing on the Parc side of the boulevard. He was nondescript, a tall, thin man dressed by Nugee, who loitered as if he were merely enjoying the sun. She had seen him before, she realized, and not too long ago. He’d been in the Grand Place. He’d also been on the street the day before when she’d walked to the Capels for tea.

It still might not have registered if he hadn’t smiled and tipped his hat when he saw her looking his way. She knew every face in the
ton
and a good portion of European aristocracy. She knew to a name those to whom she’d been introduced. She did not know this man.

“Bivens,” she said to her abigail, who walked alongside. “Do you recognize that very forward gentleman over there?”

Bivens, who prided herself on knowing just as many people as her mistress, shook her head. “Forward piece of business,” she huffed. Of course, coming from an ex–Covent Garden dancer, the pejorative was ironic at best.

“I saw him in Grand Place as we walked out of the lace shop. And I’ve seen him before.”

“Well, if you don’t know how to give him what he deserves, Miss Kate,” she said with the familiarity of one who’d grown up not four miles from her mistress, “I don’t know who does.”

Lady Kate was forced to smile. “Indeed, Bivens.” But something set her teeth on edge about this man. Could it be her family after her again? Murther’s? Or, more disturbing, could it have something to do with the guest in her second-best bedroom?

When she came across Diccan a few moments later, she almost made the mistake of asking him. Finally, she thought, someone to share her little problem.

She took a quick peek at her mystery man to see that he had turned into the Parc. She was about to bring Diccan’s attention to him when she realized that her cousin wasn’t alone. In fact, he was inconsiderate enough to be accompanied by the very people she’d ushered from her parlor not three hours earlier.

Gervaise Armiston might keep her interested for a few moments, especially considering the dramatic allegations Olivia had been making, but the Thorntons provoked nothing but paralytic boredom.

“
Uxbridge
?” Lady Thornton demanded with an outraged sniff when she heard of Kate’s visit. “I could support visiting such a hero, but
that woman
has joined him.”

Kate set her hand on Diccan’s arm. “You mean his wife, Char? It would have been insupportable if she
hadn’t
.”

“But she is a pariah,” Lord Thornton objected as they turned onto one of the leafy Parc lanes. “Bad
ton,
Lady Kate. Bad
ton.
”

“Like that Lady Gracechurch,” Lady Thornton said with a nod of the head that had her orange egret feathers tickling her husband’s nose. “Brazen-faced hussy.”

And sometimes, Kate thought, it was good to be a duchess. That training alone kept Kate from gaping like a nitwit. “You mean Jack Wyndham’s wife?” she asked with marked indifference. “Good Lord. What makes you bring
her
up? That story is so old it gathers dust. It’s been what, three years?”

“Five,” said Gervaise, and Kate turned an assessing eye on him. Hmm. Could Olivia’s tale be true? Gervaise was venal, yes. Certainly self-centered. But a murderer? She wouldn’t have thought so. But if anyone knew about masks, it was she.

“Why, I thought of Gracechurch’s wife because of the latest
on dit
,” Lady Thornton said. “Surely you’ve heard.”

“I must have been too busy doing my Christian duty by our brave wounded,” Kate drawled to hide her sudden discomfort.

It was, of all people, Diccan who supplied the news. “Word is that Gracechurch and his wife have both been seen in Brussels, if you believe it. I keep hearing he was at Waterloo.”

“Have you heard this, Gervaise?” Kate asked.

His smile was all that was innocent. “Gad, no. Thought he was in Jamaica. Hasn’t felt much like returning home.”

“All that wife’s fault,” Thornton huffed. “Woman was a slut. Proved it in court.”

“It did make an entertaining season,” Diccan said. “Haven’t heard that many salacious stories since Sheridan’s last play.”

Kate was startled by a rare rush of rage. How dare they? Even Diccan, passing such a capricious judgment on something they knew nothing about. But, of course, she knew how. There was no beast more carnivorous than the
ton,
and five years ago, Olivia had been the meat of the moment.

“Oh, so you knew her?” she asked Thornton in a drawl. “Biblically, I mean?”

Thornton flushed an unflattering red. “Here, I say!”

“You, Gervaise?” Kate asked. “Diccan? You knew Jack better than I. Did you also tup his wife?”

“Certainly not. The only wives who interest me are the available ones. Until the duel, I had no idea Jack’s was among them.”

“Who told you she was?”

Diccan laughed. “My darling girl. Everyone.”

Yes, Kate remembered. The rumors had spread like wildfire, almost on the heels of the surprise wedding. “Ah, yes. Gervaise, it seems to me you dined off that story for months.”

“It was my cousin who was ruined,” he reminded her gently.

Which sounded perfectly understandable, on the surface.

“So you don’t know the countess?” Diccan asked her.

“No, of course not. Why should I?”

He shrugged. “Armiston here thought you might.”

Kate went very still. “Really, Gervaise?” she asked, suddenly certain he would never suspect Olivia of having had the courage to tell her the truth. “Why is that?”

Gervaise looked completely unconcerned. “You know everyone.”

“As I do. Just not her, although after the way she’s been treated, I do find I have quite a bit of sympathy for her. But you’ve met her, surely.”

“Only a time or two. Jack was much taken with the country during those months, if you remember. And I gladly confess to being a town mouse.”

“Still,” Diccan mused absently. “Wouldn’t mind seeing Jack again. See how he’s going on.”

Lady Thornton gave a portentous nod. “Paid his price for the duel. The jade wasn’t worth it, no matter what you say.”

Kate ached to take her to account. But this wasn’t the moment to teach old tabbies new tricks.

“Speaking of available wives,” she said in an attempt to distract them from their prey. “Which lovely blond wife did I see you with at the theater this week, Diccan?”

Diccan playfully slapped her hand. “You know perfectly well you saw me with no one, you odious brat. It is simply not done.”

“Oh, please. Absolve me of society’s more quaint notions. She was quite pretty. And very… attached to you.”

He grinned. “You must mean Madam Ferrar. A lovely bit of fluff. The perfect light quaff to take the taste of diplomacy off the tongue at the end of the day.”

“She does have a most… musical giggle.”

He shot her a glance that let her know he understood just what she was doing, but he played along. Dear Diccan, always the perfect diplomat. Kate just hoped he could play the perfect conspirator.

“Did you still want me to stop by, brat?” he asked.

“Afraid so.” For the audience, she gave a moue. “Deadly dull family matters.”

“Which means the dear pater has once again expressed his displeasure,” Diccan said. “I am rarely in the good bishop’s graces.”

It was enough to detach the rest of their party. As Kate turned toward the Rue Royale, she caught sight of that strange gentleman again.

“Diccan,” she said very quietly. “Do you recognize the chap down the lane there? The one in the green Nugee coat.”

As if hearing the caution in her voice, he refrained from looking through his quizzing glass. “Can’t say as I do. Looks vaguely familiar, though.”

“Still has no right oglin’ the duchess like that,” Bivens protested from behind them.

Diccan laughed. “Dear Bivens, if we chastised every man who ogled my cousin, the entire male population of Europe would be sent to their rooms without pudding.”

“He does seem to have been following us,” Kate mused.

This time Diccan must have heard something more. “Do you want me to speak to him?”

“No. I want you to respond to my request and join my houseguests and me for a bit.”

His bow of acquiescence was everything it should have been. “It was ever my intention.”

Kate, though, knew that Diccan was now on alert. However, after the last conversation about Olivia, she hoped she hadn’t made a serious mistake in asking for his help.

Lady Kate wasn’t the only one who hoped she hadn’t made a mistake. The minute Olivia saw Diccan Hilliard, she thought the same thing.

“Why am I put in mind of the bigwig’s office at Trinity?” he was asking as he followed Lady Kate into the morning room.

Olivia took a seat beside Grace on one of the chintz sofas by the fireplace. Now that there were open rooms in the house, Lady Kate had moved her little flock into the lemon-hued parlor at the rear of the first floor. And just as Mr. Hilliard said, the women were lined up behind the tea tray like a jury.

Olivia was fast losing her confidence in Mr. Hilliard. Surely he was too self-interested to wish involvement in this. Too aloof. How could they possibly expect discretion from a man who wielded his tongue like a rapier?

“Sad to say,” Lady Kate said as she offered him one of the Louis Quinze chairs, “we are not here for badinage. We have a rare problem I thought you might delight in sinking your teeth into. I’ve had Finney broach that ninety-eight amontillado you like.”

Diccan’s eyebrows soared. “This must be serious indeed.” Flipping his coattails, he settled on an ornate gilt chair that should have looked designed to hold him. Oddly, it only looked fussy and small. It reminded Olivia that Diccan Hilliard was physically more substantial than his character.

“Good to see you all looking so well,” he said as he poured his brandy. “Sorry I couldn’t get here any quicker. For some reason, Ambassador Stuart likes to keep me occupied.”

“How appropriate,” his cousin said, “as what we need from you will be your diplomatic skills.”

“Valor,” Lady Bea said with a nod as she handed out the ubiquitous tea.

Lady Kate nodded. “Yes, Bea. Definitely discretion.”

Sipping his brandy, he leaned back. “I’m all ears.”

Lady Kate seemed to assess his sincerity. “Olivia has a story for you,” she said, and Olivia felt her heart speed up.

“Indeed,” he said. “I do so love a good story.”

Again Olivia was struck by the feeling that something about Kate’s cousin didn’t add up. She couldn’t decide what, though, and it made her nervous.

“She’ll be happy to tell you,” Kate was saying, “after I introduce her to you.”

Diccan made a point to look between them. “I might be a bit confused, but haven’t you already done that? I remember, because I particularly recall thinking how well her name fit her.”

“Her real name does as well. Diccan, may I introduce Olivia Louise Gordon Wyndham, former countess of Gracechurch.”

For the first time since she’d met him, Olivia saw Diccan Hilliard stunned to silence. She thought he actually might have gone pale.

It was only seconds, though. Suddenly he grinned. “Fiend seize it! Hiding in plain sight, are you, ma’am?”

She shrugged. “I often find that to be the most effective tactic.”

“Joan of Arc,” Lady Bea blurted out again.

Diccan allowed an eyebrow to rise. “If you mean pure of heart, dear thing, I’ll take your word for it. If she’s hearing voices, however…”

“You can imagine why Olivia’s identity is proprietary,” Lady Kate said in a deceptively lazy voice.

Olivia saw a slight flush on Diccan’s face. He shot a rueful grin at his cousin and sipped at his brandy. “I imagine you’ve had quite enough of unfounded rumors, Countess.”

“I am no countess, Mr. Hilliard. Plain Mrs. Grace will do.”

He raised his snifter in a salute. “Of course. Can you tell me why you chose this moment to reveal yourself ? And why to me?”