Chasing the Heiress (21 page)

Her decision was interrupted by a rap at the door. “Miss? It's Dot. Lady Hartley has sent me to you. May I enter?”

She started to call out that there was no need. But having been a servant herself, she would at least open the door to send the maid away. At the door she found not one maid, but three. The first—a broad-faced, flaxen-haired cherub—carried over her arm a pile of underclothes, and the two maids behind each held dresses over their outstretched arms.

“Lady Hartley thought after such a long trip, you might have no clothes fresh enough for dinner.”

Lucy did not correct Em's polite fiction. It was a generous kindness—as were the dresses. She stepped back from the door to let the maids enter.

“Lady Hartley believed this one might suit you best.” The maid held up a frock of deep crimson satin, with puffed sleeves and a narrow fluted ruffle at its base. Edged in delicate white lace, the bodice was demurely low, cupping each breast individually. “The two of you are of a size and shape, so it ought to fit nicely.”

The dress was simple, but elegant—the kind of dress she would have commissioned herself from a modiste. “Then I will try that one first.”

“Very good, miss.” The maids set to work. Two hung the remaining dresses, eight by the count of them: a riding habit, two morning dresses, two walking dresses, two evening dresses, and a ball gown. Lucy determined to object later.

As she sat to have her hair dressed, the maid—Dot—chatted familiarly, happy if Lucy offered an occasional
um
or
ah
. As Dot worked, Lucy wondered if Colin would find her transformation appealing, or if he'd prefer her as he had found her? A lowly servant.

“And of course Mrs. Cane—her ladyship's cousin—was quite frustrated to find that she and her party had to leave before Lady Hartley's beau arrived. Her guests were growing restive when the rain came unexpectedly and ended their enjoyment of the country. She told me she had been planning the menu for Lady Hartley's engagement party for months.”

In the expert hands of Dot, Lucy watched her hair transform from a mess of curls into an elegant chignon with tendrils framing her face.

“It was to have ten courses—though Cook told me she would have refused to prepare it. Cook calls Mrs. Cane a worthless spendthrift, but I think an engagement party would have been lovely. Do you think we will have one now that you have arrived?”

It took a moment for Lucy to register that Dot had stopped her long narrative and was waiting for her to respond.

“Dot, I was thinking that my hair has never looked lovelier, and I missed your question,” Lucy said diplomatically.

“Do you really like it, miss?”

“Yes, Dot, it makes me look . . .” Lucy's voice trailed off in thought.

“Beautiful, miss. That it does. No, I was saying that I thought the party Mrs. Cane had planned was just the sort of celebration Lady Hartley deserves after all these years of waiting.”

The information registered slowly, leaving Lucy wishing that she had paid closer attention. “Certainly it is difficult to wait on an expected good.”

Dot patted her shoulder. “That is exactly my position. Do you think we'll have the engagement announcement this week then?” Dot asked, putting the final touches on Lucy's hair. “I was saying in fact just the other day to one of Mrs. Cane's friends that a short engagement is always best. Why, Mrs. Cane only knew her husband for . . .”

Dot's voice faded into the background once more, leaving Lucy with an uncomfortable twist in her gut.

Chapter Twenty-One

Em was on the terrace, where Colin expected her to be.

But before climbing the four stairs, he stopped and knelt beside Bess, lying at the base of the stairs. He scratched the big black dog behind the ears. “Always watching out for our lady Em, aren't you, girl?” Bess shifted her head to move his fingers to a better spot. As he petted the great dog, he watched Em stand on the terrace, lost in thought.

She was looking out over the stone wall, into the garden and wilderness beyond. In childhood they had made a game of it, the private hand signal that meant
Meet me at the parapet
—their word for the raised portion of the terrace, where the land fell off abruptly below and some distant generation of ancestor had built a stone wall to keep residents from falling. It was the most private public space near the house. A bend in the terrace protected one from view, but at the same time gave a full prospect. If one stood just right, as they did now, they were hidden from view, except from the most distant part of the garden, which they could see fully. There was only one approach from the house that they could not see, and it was almost never used. It had become a ritual between them; if either wished to talk or escape, they would find this spot on the terrace.

Seeing her now, the light on her hair, the curve of her smile, Colin took it in, knowing things were already shifting between them.

He realized with a start that, though her face and form were as familiar to him as his own, he'd never noticed how her eyes mirrored the rich green of the evergreens or how her hair—straight and thick—was the same lustrous black as the crows. Somehow he'd simply expected her to be there whenever he returned, and she always had been. He should have seen her better before now.

She did not turn as he approached, and he leaned onto the ledge next to her, their elbows touching. They looked out together, silently.

As always, the silence was companionable between them, and as always, she spoke first. “I remember the first time we met here. We were seven or eight.” She did not look at him, only stared at a distant spot in the garden.

“Seven.” He watched the garden with her.

“Seven then. Stella had hatched some plan for mischief, and she had tricked me into the garden so that I would take the blame for it. She hadn't been here long, and I hadn't yet learned not to trust her. But you always knew when she was up to no good.” Her shoulder leaned against the side of his arm, comfortably.

“I lured you away from the garden with new pencils and paper.”

“And we drew until sunset, imagining worlds and dragons and crusading knights.”

“You were never satisfied with being the damsel in distress.”

“She won't be either, you know, but I think she'll be good for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I've seen the way you look at her and the way she looks at you. You aren't certain of her yet, but you will be.”

Em reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded paper. She put it on the ledge in front of them, holding it down with her hand. It sat between them, but he didn't reach for it. He knew what it was. A child's drawing, in two hands. Their betrothal promise from all those years ago.

“I tried to give this back to you last time.” Her voice was soft. “But you refused.”

“I wasn't ready. You are always my dream of sanity in a world gone mad.”

“Oh, fiddle. More like just another nightmare. But I was right: it's time. Past time. I suppose we should do this right.” She picked the drawing up and turned toward him. She stood only chest high, so she had to look up into his face. She paused. Looking down at her, he realized her hand was shaking. He took her hand in his.

She looked up and breathed deeply once before speaking. “Colin Somerville, I release you from our childhood promises.”

He brushed the hair back from her face. “Not all of them, Em.”

She tucked the strand behind her ear, and laughed, a soft, self-deprecating agreement. “No, not all. You still must be my dear friend. And you must always save a waltz for me. Promise.”

He suddenly felt the loss of her in the center of his chest. “I never meant to hurt you, Em. Will this break your heart?”

“Arrogant, aren't you?” She shook her head in mock dismay. “No, you're too late; my heart's already been broken.” And she laughed again. It sounded just like Em's laugh, but he heard it differently. He wondered how he'd never seen it before—the fleeting sadness, the hasty smile.

“What? Who?” Colin pressed her for an answer.

“Not now. But sometime—when you have this all sorted out. I'll tell you then. And you can advise me what to do next.” She brushed her cheek with the back of her hand. “But you must keep it all a secret.”

“Anything.” Colin listened more closely now, regretting that he had not listened well in all his visits for the past few years. If he had, things might now have been different between them.

“Always so hasty,” she chided lovingly. “You should hear what my story is first.”

He stiffened in hurt. “Have I ever done anything to make you question my loyalty?”

“No, never. You've been my dearest friend, my one constant. But I'm thinking I might like to travel, me and Bess. You know how difficult that might be for me. I would need an escort to the Continent.”

“Wouldn't Jeffreys or Sam have some objection?”

She turned away from the garden and toward him. She lifted her hand to his shoulder, then gently cupped one side of his face with her hand. “I've been too long on the shelf, Colin. I've only had my way this long because everyone believed that you and I would eventually marry. I have my own funds; I'm of age. And in the last several months I find that this place has grown uncomfortably small.”

She let her arm fall to her side; then she picked up the paper from the ledge. She handed the paper to him.

He held back from taking it. Marriage to Em had always been a possibility, but somehow it had seemed wrong to marry her when he was so damaged. But she was damaged too, and he hadn't known. Perhaps if he had realized . . . but now there was Lucy. From the moment he'd met her, she'd figured in his plans.

He unfolded the sheet and saw what he expected: a sketch of two horses and two riders, a turreted tower in the distance, and a dragon lying dead on its side. “I don't want to take this.”

“But that was the promise. When one of us decided to marry another, we would tear this into pieces and scatter it to the wind. I saw the way you look at her. You've decided.”

He couldn't object. “Keep it. Send it to me if you ever need my help.”

“Still trying to be the knight in shining armor,” Em chided.

“No, he's long since dead. His armor is bloodied and can't be cleaned.”

Abruptly, she tore the paper in half, one knight and a turret on one side, another and the body of the dragon on the other. But instead of scattering the pieces, she held out half to him. “If either needs the other, this will be our promise . . . of friendship and of succor.”

He nodded, taking the paper from her hand—a slender white hand, so different from Lucy's tanned, calloused one. He folded the sheet and placed it in his breast pocket.

“Don't let her get away, Colin.” She kissed him softly on the cheek. Turning back to the garden, she leaned her stomach against the stone wall, making it impossible for him to see her face.

He placed his arm around her shoulders and drew her against his body. He leaned over and kissed her hair. She leaned her body into his side, rested there for a moment, then pulled away.

She stepped out of the circle of his arm, looked up into his face once more as if for the last time, then walked away. He let her go and took her place looking out over the garden.

* * *

Lucy caught a sob in her hand, then turned swiftly away. She had to escape before she was seen. Lucy had thought to walk on the terrace before dinner and, if she saw Em, to thank her for the loan of the lovely dinner dress. But she hadn't expected to chance upon Em and Colin in the middle of a tryst. When Lady Emmeline brushed Colin's cheek with her hand, then kissed his cheek, she had felt her heart drop into her belly. Sorrow, anger, regret, and—she had to admit—jealousy filled her stomach, all in one complicated dish.

She fled down the nearest garden path, a long avenue with thick evergreen hedges on either side. But there was no exit, no quick retreat into another part of the garden. Nothing, but a long unbroken row of green.

He wasn't hers, she repeated to herself. He had never been hers. She had even insisted that she didn't want him. All she'd wanted was a safe passage and some pleasure before she disappeared into a new life. Why, then, had it hurt so much to see him with another woman? No, seeing him with Em shouldn't matter. But the ache in the center of her chest and at the pit of her belly told her it did.

Suddenly, Dot's words became clear. The maid's idle chatter had been about Colin. The realization took her breath. He was the expected beau, the one with whom Lady Emmeline had a longtime understanding. Why, then, had he told her he had no fiancée? That he would marry her? And worse yet, why—on so little evidence—had she believed him?

It had been empty chivalry all along. A sickbed romance turned into a passionate affair, but not one that had touched his heart.

Knowing the playing field, she had to decide what campaign she would begin.

She knew how to fight other sorts of campaigns, campaigns where a man's life depended on how attentive and knowledgeable she was: how to stitch up a bayonet wound, how to slow the bleeding from a severed limb. But this sort of game—where one had to hold one's heart safe, to win with smiles and strategies—she would not play.

As Lady Arabella Lucia Fairbourne, she had the means and the position to compete for his affections. But, as Lucy the officer's daughter, she couldn't. Wouldn't. In her heart, she wasn't an aristocrat, just an officer's daughter, one whose character and strength had been forged in battles, not in the
ton
.

She would give him up, heart and soul together. She would not falter in her resolve. But she would not again seek his bed with such abandon. No, if she did, she would be betraying both herself and Lady Emmeline.

* * *

At the entrance into the hedged walk, Em saw Lucy, already dressed for dinner, walking away briskly. From the set of her shoulders and her position on the path, Lucy must have seen Em and Colin together.

Em started to follow Lucy, then stopped.

If Lucy rejected Colin, then Em could avoid the embarrassment of a broken engagement. She could avoid Stella's ridicule and keep Colin for herself. All she had to do was . . . nothing. Return to the house. Let Lucy interpret the scene on the terrace as she would. And if the budding romance between Lucy and Colin withered . . .

She didn't even have to be brave: all she had to do was walk away. She looked back over her shoulder toward the terrace, where Colin stood obscured from view. Much as she might later regret it, she'd already released Colin even before he'd arrived with Lucy.

No, she might engage in activities that would destroy her reputation if she were caught, but she could never destroy Colin's as well. From the moment that she'd taken Adam's hand and let him show her the world beyond her estate, she had known that new knowledge would come with sacrifice. She simply hadn't known the sacrifice would be her heart.

She called out to Lucy, who paused, glancing back at the house. “Wait for me. There's something I must discuss with you.”

* * *

Lucy wished she hadn't turned; she wished she'd slipped back into the house rather than run toward the garden. It was a tactical error, and, because of it, she would have to face Em, the woman she had so deeply, if unknowingly, wronged.

For Em's sake, she wouldn't reveal that Colin, the man Em so obviously loved, was unfaithful. Perhaps, Lucy shrugged mentally, Em even knew and didn't care. Some women cared little if a man sought other women, so long as he returned at the end of each affair.

But to bring his new lover to the house of his betrothed, even if to keep William safe, suggested a cruelty she would not have believed in Colin's character. It was something her cousin would do . . . or rather had done, keeping a mistress in London even when his wife was in residence, and seducing the maids in his own household. Everyone knew that more than one of the children in the village had been born of such liaisons.

But Lucy had believed Colin a man of honor, perhaps the one man with whom she could share her secrets. At least, she comforted herself, she hadn't told him her own, not fully.

Now, she realized just how little she knew of him. How could she have thought she knew the man simply because he reminded her of other men she had loved?

Em, walking slowly, had almost caught up to her, an inscrutable look on her face. What did Em know? Was she coming to warn her off or, worse, explain the rules of their relationship? Lucy's heart was heavy with regret and sorrow. And the memory of his kiss on her lips tasted of gall.

She had only just realized she'd fallen in love with him, and now to find . . . She stopped the thought, just as she stopped her tears with the back of her hand.

By the time Em reached her, Lucy was—at least—no longer crying. Growing up in hospitals, she'd learned quickly to conceal her emotions; no wounded soldier waiting for a doctor to amputate his leg needed a weeping nurse.

She was surprised when Em took her arm, clearly expecting them to walk arm in arm like bosom friends. They were close in height and build, the only difference being that Em's hair was straight. Lucy had to wonder if she fit a type that Colin liked. Had she not hidden her figure with pads, he would have found them similar all along.