Dreams of Desire (38 page)

Footsteps sounded in the hall, winging toward him, and he glanced over at the door, curious as to who was hurrying about. Old habits died hard, and he half expected Esther to bustle in, but when he saw who it was instead, he had to blink and blink to clear his vision.

Was he hallucinating?

“Barbara?”

“Hello, darling,” she said.

“Barbara?” he repeated more stridently. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m preparing the guest list for your party on Thursday night.”

“I’m not having a party on Thursday night.”

“Of course you are. You have to let everyone know you’re back in Town—especially now that you’ve jilted that odious Violet Howard.”

She was clutching a lengthy piece of paper, scratching names on it. It was crisscrossed with so many lines and arrows that it resembled an army general’s convoluted war plan.

“I don’t intend to announce that I’m back,” he insisted, “and I have no desire to entertain.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. After your ordeal in Scotland, rumors of your deteriorated condition are running rampant. You must quell them, and a very public party is the best way.”

“Let people talk. I don’t care what they say about me.”

She blanched with surprise. “
You
don’t care? Are you ill?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

“You have to show you’re hale and healthy—and that Violet is but a distant memory.” She grinned. “Did you know that stupid child fancied herself in love with Edward?”

“So I’ve heard.”

“That fact alone should tell you how unqualified she was to be your countess. You’re not pining away, are you? She was a spoiled idiot. You’re lucky to be shed of her.”

“No, Barbara, I’m not pining away.”

“I’m so relieved. Now then, you need me, and I have everything under control.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” She studied her list of names again. “You’re still friends with Jordan Winthrop, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m told he’s married a commoner, but you’re such a stickler for proprieties. May I invite him and his new bride or not? I wouldn’t want you to collapse from an apoplexy if she strolled in on his arm.”

He thought about all the effort he’d wasted, focusing on status and rank. How could any of it have mattered so much?

Esther was a countess, but it wasn’t too much of a stretch to say she could thrive in an insane asylum. His brother, an earl’s son, was an irresponsible wastrel and not worth knowing. Violet, a duke’s daughter, was an immature flirt who was fickle in her loyalties and easily led astray by inappropriate influences.

He was left with Barbara—his loose, notorious, unfaithful mother. But she’d returned and, despite his disregard, his insults, his ignoring her, she was determined to befriend him.

Why keep pushing her away? What purpose was served by remaining aloof?

Yes, she’d erred. She’d shamed the family and disgraced his father, but she’d been little more than a girl when she’d run off, just a year or two older than Violet. The impetuousness of youth had to have played a part in her rash conduct.

She seemed filled with regret, and she’d gone to such lengths to reestablish their bond. Hadn’t she earned a second chance? If he tossed her out again, if he rebuffed this latest attempt, what did it say about him as a man? As a son? As a Christian?

He believed in redemption. He believed in miracles, and it dawned on him that he was absurdly glad she’d arrived.

“Yes, you may invite Jordan to the party,” he said, “and please enclose a personal message from me, telling him how much I look forward to meeting his wife.”

“Marvelous.”

“While you’re at it, I need you to arrange a small, quick wedding.”

“A wedding?”

“Saturday morning.”

“Here at the house?”

“Yes.”

“Who are the bride and groom. Anyone I know?”

“Edward is marrying Miranda—if I have to hog-tie him and drag him before the vicar.”

“Edward and Miranda?”

“We had an
incident
,” was all he supplied by way of explanation.

“Ah . . .”

She scribbled some furious notes, then gradually, her quill drew to a halt. She glanced up and frowned.

“What is it?” she inquired. “Why are you staring?”

“You didn’t bring that oaf Dudley to London with you, did you?”

“No. He dropped me off, then kept on going.”

“Good. It was unnerving, seeing him and my mother . . . well . . .” He blushed from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes.

“He proposed marriage to me afterward—if it makes you feel any better.”

“It doesn’t.”

“But I refused him.”

“Really? Why?”

“Why would I wed again? I was awful at it the first time, and I didn’t suppose I’d improve with practice.” She winked at him. “You throw a mean right hook.”

“I belonged to a boxing club when I was at university.”

“He had a black eye for two weeks.”

“The cad.”

“Yes, he was, but I liked him anyway.” She sighed like a young maiden who’d had her heart broken.

A silence ensued, where they gazed at each other, and he was astonished to realize that he had her exact same smile. He hadn’t noticed before.

“What shall I do with you, Barbara?” he asked.

“Don’t do anything. Just let me watch over you for a while. I want to. It will make me happy.”

I wouldn’t mind a bit of mothering,
he mused.

What could it hurt to have her stay? If he wasn’t careful, he might even grow to like her. Why not?

“Would you join me in a whiskey?” He tipped his glass toward her, offering to pour her one.

“Why, John Middleton! It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, and you’re drinking. What’s come over you?”

“I guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

“About damn time.”

 

BARBARA was walking past the front door, when the knocker was banged. She peeked out to see a man on the stoop, holding a sealed letter.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I’m to deliver this to Lord Penworth. Is he at home?”

“Yes.”

She extended her hand to accept it, and he hesitated.

“My orders are to give it to him personally.”

“Sorry, but he’s extremely busy. May I inquire as to what it’s about?”

“I’m to say it’s a private matter,” he mysteriously said.

“Ooh, that sounds intriguing.”

She went to the table in the hall, grabbed some pin money, and stuffed it into his coat. Instantly, he relinquished the letter.

“Will you wait for his answer?” she queried.

“No. If he chooses to act, the instructions are all written down, neat and proper.”

He spun and dashed off, and she hastened to the library where John was buried in correspondence.

She entered the room, picking at the wax seal, trying to peer inside at the clandestine message. She wasn’t yet brazen enough to snoop through his mail, but if she managed to stumble on a fascinating detail, she wouldn’t feel guilty.

“Are you having an affair?” she asked as he looked up.

“Not that I know of.”

“Are you being blackmailed?”

“Not that I know of,” he said again. “Why?”

“You’ve received a secret letter, meant for your eyes only.” She dropped it on the desk.

“Is the courier waiting for a reply?”

“No. He claimed—once you read the contents—your instructions will be clear.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

He sat back in his chair and opened it, and as he perused the words, he froze. The strangest expression crossed his face, and he muttered, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What is it? Not bad news, I hope?”

“No, no. It’s from . . . Lily.”

“Miss Lambert?”

“Yes. She left Scotland without a good-bye and without providing any information as to where she went. I would have tried to find her, but I had no idea how.”

Barbara thought it a peculiar comment. Angus had told her the family sent Miss Lambert away to contain the scandal. By
family
, Barbara had assumed Angus referred to John, but if John hadn’t arranged Miss Lambert’s departure, how had it come about?

“I was just thinking about her,” John admitted.

“What does she say?”

“She’s had some trouble. She wants to see me, and she needs my . . . my help!”

He smiled, as if Miss Lambert’s seeking his assistance was the most spectacular thing that had ever happened to him.

As if he’d forgotten Barbara was present, he shut his eyes and pressed the letter to his chest, directly over his heart. He held it there as she watched—agog and amazed—at how the missive had riveted him.

Suddenly, he rose and raced out.

“John!” she called after him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get her, to beg her forgiveness, and bring her home where she belongs.”

He continued on, and to the empty room, Barbara murmured, “Good for you, my wonderful lad. Good for you.”

“HE won’t come,” Lily insisted.

“Won’t he?” Esther replied. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that if I were you.”

“He doesn’t care about me!”

“Ha! That’s what you think.”

“You said so yourself back in Scotland. He threw me out so Lady Violet wasn’t discomfited.”

“I lied. He and I never discussed you.
I
wanted you gone, and I tricked you into leaving.”

“What?”

“I was still foolish enough to suppose that Edward had a chance with Violet, and I was able to tell her that I’d gotten rid of you.”

“Well, your scheme certainly worked.”

“John was livid when he found out that you’d sneaked away.”

“Really?”

“He was determined to chase after you, but I talked him out of it by reminding him of his duty to Violet. He was always a stickler for doing his
duty
. It was easy to persuade him to forget you.”

A flush of happiness swept through Lily. She’d presumed that Penworth tossed her over with nary a ripple in his conscience. It was heartening to hear that he’d at least realized she’d left.

Fat lot of good it did her at the moment.

She was tied to a chair in the decrepit room she’d rented, and Esther was standing behind her, a loaded pistol in her hand. They were waiting for Penworth to arrive, and bizarre as it sounded, Esther was planning to shoot him when he walked in.

Obviously, desperation had driven Lily mad. Why had she trusted Esther? Lunacy was the sole explanation for her folly.

Edward had delivered Lily to Esther’s suite at the Carlyle Hotel, and Lily had followed along like a sheep to the slaughter.

Under Esther’s meticulous prodding, Lily had revealed her dire plight—all but her possible pregnancy—yet Esther seemed to have deduced Lily’s condition. She kept staring at Lily’s stomach when she thought Lily wasn’t looking.

Esther had confessed her own fury with Penworth over his demand that Edward marry Miranda. When Esther had offered to plead Lily’s case to Penworth, when she’d offered to obtain some financial assistance from him, Lily had agreed to let her try.

She’d been swayed by Esther’s wily argument: Lily had been grievously used by Penworth. Shouldn’t he fork over some money in reparation?

It’s only fair,
Esther had crooned, and the longer she’d continued, the more Lily had concurred.

She’d written the letter Esther suggested, begging him to meet her at her dreary, dilapidated boardinghouse.

He should see the depths to which you’ve descended,
Esther had urged. She had claimed that if he witnessed Lily’s true situation, he’d feel guilty and more inclined to be generous.

Lily had swallowed Esther’s nonsense, and now she was frantic with worry over what Esther had set in motion.

Esther didn’t seem to be insane. If anything, she seemed completely rational, and her calm certitude was frightening. She hated John with a burning passion, and she would stop Edward’s marriage by any means necessary.

Lily had to prevent an assault, but what could she do?

“I asked him to be here at two o’clock,” Lily said, hoping to distract Esther with conversation. “It’s almost three. He’s not coming.”

“He’s coming. Don’t you fret about it.”

“You don’t even know if he’s in London. He might have been out when the message was delivered.”

“He’s home.” At Lily’s dubious scowl, Esther snarled, “What? You think I don’t have spies in my own house? You think none of the servants are loyal to me? He’s home, and that whore, Barbara, is there, too. I’ll even the score with both of them in one fell swoop.”

“Has it occurred to you that you’re acting a bit odd? Are you positive you should do this? Maybe you should talk to your son. He likes Lord Penworth; he wouldn’t approve of your harming him.”