Heaven Sent the Wrong One (18 page)

"I thought you read the Constitution?" Jeremy interjected sardonically. "Girls can't inherit titles and entailed property."

"But not for long," Diana replied. "When I'm old enough, I'll petition for equal rights."

"I'm sure you will, poppet." Richard said dotingly. "But for now, your Uncle Jeremy is right. By the by—your brother is a brilliant boy. I would appreciate it if you would refrain from calling him,
His Duke-dumb
."

"But Papa
—"

"No more arguments, poppet." Richard waved a forefinger in front of his daughter's face.

"God help us," Jeremy said. "Now she'll be saving her debates for the lords of Parliament. We are all doomed to be in contempt of the Crown. Our properties will be seized and we will all be penniless, starving, and toothless. Remind me not to associate with your family in ten years."

"That will be impossible, Uncle Jeremy." Diana crossed her arms on her chest.

"And why is that?" Jeremy arched a dark brow. "Will Thy Smartiness enlighten me?"

"Because, Uncle Jeremy
—" Diana reached out and cradled his face in her little hands beneath the brim of the lace bonnet, and looked into his eyes. "I'll be your daughter-in-law when I grow up."

"Oh, dear Lord," Richard uttered, plastering his hand over his eyes as he shook his head.

Jeremy stared at her. "My daughter in ... wait a minute—you want to marry my son?"

"Why doesn't anyone believe me?" Diana stomped back to her chair and pouted.

"Let me get this straight—" Jeremy said, "are you in love with Edward?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Un
cle." Diana flicked him a sideways glower. "Why would I be in love with Edward?" She crossed her eyes and made a face to better illustrate her disgust.

"Um
—ah—because he's smarter than you are?" Jeremy needled with a grin.

Diana rolled her eyes and snorted
aloud.

"Please don't let your mother hear you doing that," Richard said with a sigh.

"I give up," Jeremy said, "if you are not in love with Edward—why the deuce do you want to marry him?"

Diana lifted her chin. "I think Edward will make a good slave."

"A good sla—" Jeremy turned an incredulous frown at Richard. "Your daughter scares me."

"Me, too." Richard massaged his forehead.

The nursery door opened and a blonde head followed by a red head peeked in. "Diana?" Desiree, the golden-haired Duchess of Grandstone called.

"What's going on here?" Cassie, the Marchioness of Waterford took a single step into the room and burst into laughter when she saw what both men were wearing.

Jeremy muttered a silent curse and wrestled with the bonnet and feather boa around his neck, tossing both adornments on the nearby chaise.

A ruddy-faced young footman rushed into the room. "I'm sorry Lady Diana, but I could not stop them."

"That's alright, Benny," Diana said.

"Who the hell are you?" Richard pointed at the lad wearing the
unfamiliar livery with the letters 'DRI' and an illustration of a magnifying glass embroidered on one breast pocket.

"Papa, please don
’t frighten my assistant," Diana replied before Benny could stammer a word.

"Your assistant?" Richard threw his yellow tea
hat on the settee next to him and turned to the quivering lad. "Young man, go back to your duties in the house or I will have Gordon fire you. My daughter does not need an assistant."

"You can't fire him, Papa," Diana said. "He's not under your employ."

"What—"

"Her patroness pays for him." Richard's wife, Desiree, placed a placating hand on her husband's shoulder.

"And you knew about this all along?" Richard drew his brows together at her, before turning his piercing blue gaze at his daughter. "Is your mother your patroness?"

"That information is confidential," Diana replied with the cherubic charm of a guileless child, but her eyes flitted towards her Aunt Cassie.

Richard cast a mildly reprehensive, but otherwise fond gaze at his childhood friend, Jeremy's wife, Cassie, who bit her lip and looked as innocent as his daughter—if he didn't know any better.

"Don't look at me
—" Jeremy raised both hands as Richard transferred his reproving glare at him. "I had nothing to do with it."

"Benny? Will you please show
the gentlemen out?" Diana said to the flustered footman, before turning to the new arrivals. "Ladies, your appointment is next. Please have a seat."

"What appointment?" Richard asked.

"We asked Diana to find out what is troubling Allayne," Desiree said.

"You owe me a sovereign, Mama," Diana said.

"No need," Jeremy waved his hand before Desiree could fish out a coin from her reticule. "We already paid her for the information."

"Only for
some
of it." Diana gave him a deceivingly sweet smile. "But not all of it."

"Not all of
—oh, you sneaky little devil!" Jeremy could only shake his head and laugh in exasperation.

Diana took both men by the hand, leading them to where Benny stood holding the door wide open. "Thank you for using Diana Radcliffe Investigations,
gentlemen." She practically pushed them into the corridor, then, Benny promptly closed the door on their faces and turned the lock.

Diana marched back to where the ladies sat on the same pink seats vacated by the gentlemen. "You got the money?" She asked a
s she lowered herself on her chair across the pink table from them.

"You got the information?" Her mother produced a gleaming gold sovereign.

"Yes." She snatched the coin from her mother's fingers. "But first—" she looked over her right and left shoulder as if to make certain that no one was listening, "—tea, anyone?"

Less than ten minutes later, after her mother emptied her guts in the washbasin while her Aunt Cassie congratulated her on how
real
the tea looked—she gave both ladies
exactly
the same information she'd divulged to her Papa and Uncle Jeremy.

Confessions and Atonements

A
llayne steeled himself as he walked into his father's study. A week had passed since he learned that Richard and Jeremy drugged and carted him off to Grandstone House after his drunken gambling at White's. They had taken him hostage sans his clothes for two days and pressed him on the details of his affair with a certain Miss Anna Banana.

Dammit
—he should have known better than to trust Richard's scheming daughter, Diana. After all, he had a sister who was of the same mold. Nonetheless, his friends failed to extort any more information out of him and reluctantly released him once they realized all future inquisitions would be for naught.

But that didn't mean they had given up.

Allayne narrowed his eyes at the three men inside the room. Obviously, all of them were onto him again. His father, Viscount Rose sat behind his desk, while Jeremy sat on a chair opposite him. Richard stood leaning on his shoulder against the fireplace mantle with his arms crossed on his chest, watching him as he advanced towards them.

"Ah
—a grand meeting. Are all of you here to reprimand me of my behavior?" Allayne veered towards the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. "May I offer you gentlemen a drink?"

"We would rather speak with you sober," Viscount Rose said in a grim tone.

Allayne met his father's eyes across the room. He could not remember the last time he'd seen him so grave. The viscount normally had an easy disposition, which many observed Allayne had inherited. However, today, his sunny personality was replaced by a rare brooding temperament.

Allayne set his liquor glass down on the mahogany sideboard and leveled his gaze at
his friends.

Richard pushed himself away from the mantle and took a few steps towards him with his hands behind his back
—an aristocratic pose that Allayne recognized as his way of gearing up for battle. "We are concerned about your condition," he began.

"W
hy?—What about it?" Allayne stubbornly tilted his chin.

"As of late, you have not been conducting yourself as a proper gentleman," Richard replied with those piercing blue eyes of his, cutting through him.

"However I conduct myself in society is none of your concern!" Allayne's baritone escalated a notch. Richard's diplomatic manner of handling an interview could be vexing, especially if he was the recipient.

"That's where you're mistaken, my friend," Richard said calmly, unfazed by his impetuous remark. "
You are a partner in our enterprises. Your behavior is critical in carrying out your duties."

Allayne snatched the brandy on the sideboard and drank it all in one burning gulp, before replacing the glass with a loud clink. "Fuck you, Richard!"

"Allayne Cassius Carlyle!" The viscount bellowed, abruptly surging from his chair. "You shall observe propriety in this house!" Allayne muttered a curse under his breath and plunged his hands through his overly-long hair. He stood quietly for a moment, then, drew a heavy breath before saying, "Pardon me—Papa, Richard."

Richard nodded and the viscount sat back on his chair with a frown. He knew why his papa was here. His friends were smart enough to call on him for aid in case the need to pacify him arose.

"Don't be angry, old chap," Jeremy said. "Our concern for you is not just out of your responsibilities for the business, but also out of affection—as your family and friends."

Allayne slumped on the chair opposite Jeremy, propping his elbows on his knees as he rubbed h
is face with his hands. "I know—I'm sorry," he replied throatily.

"Tell us, then
—" Richard said. "What's troubling you?"

"Is it a lady
—this Miss Anna Banana?" Jeremy added.

"God Almighty
—I hope it is," Viscount Rose exclaimed. "So your mother and I can rest in peace knowing that a betrothal and an heir would soon be forthcoming."

Allayne swept his gaze at the eager faces of the men in the room. They would never stop pestering him until they finagled the details they sought from him. The most practical way h
e could get them off his back would be to tell them the truth—or at least some of it.

"Alright," he said with a sigh. "Miss Banana had been the cause of my misery
—but I regret to disappoint you, Papa." He stood up and strolled towards the open window overlooking Grosvernor Square Gardens. "Unfortunately, my relationship with Miss Banana proved to be unsuitable."

"Whatever do you mean
—unsuitable?" The viscount asked. "Is it a matter of birth? Is she involved in a scandal? How did you cross paths with her? Good Lord—she's not one of those French demimonde preying on men of the upper class—is she?"

Allayne chuckled blandly without taking his eyes off the view outside, littered with passing carriages and people strolling on the promenade. "It doesn't matter wher
e we met, I assure you—she's not a courtesan nor my mistress. However, she is low-born and belongs to the working class."

A stretch of silence ensued.

The viscount finally cleared his throat. "I suppose,—well,—Son, I suppose if you truly wish to be with this gel,—er,—Miss Anna—is it? Perhaps we can,—er—devise a way to—ah,—to—"

"To make her appear suitable," Richard interjected.

"It would be difficult, but I imagine it can be done," Jeremy said.

"Er
—yes, I suppose," Viscount Rose concurred. "It will involve a great deal of lies and rehearsals, but we might just get away with it—so long as your mother doesn't discover the ruse or she'll send us all to Hades. We'll have to unravel the facts gradually to her. I'm sure she'll come around."

Allayne shook his head
with another hollow chuckle, turning from the window to face his father and friends. These men love him—no matter how sentimental that may sound—that they were willing to take essential steps to support him. His father's astonishing acceptance of the situation and his friends' loyalty and genuine concern for his happiness touched a place in his heart.

"I appreciate your suggestions, but I'm afraid
—" Allayne lifted his gaze to the ceiling and heaved a lungful of air to disguise the sudden tightness in his chest, "I,—your proposal is unnecessary. Anna—" he swallowed the mass blocking his throat, "—doesn't return my affections."

Another gaping silence followed his declaration.

"She doesn't? Why in God's name does she not?" The viscount straightened in his seat after recovering from the fleeting period of shock. "You are the son of a viscount! My heir! You're one of the wealthiest men in England! I do not comprehend why she would reject you."

Allayne winced at the memory of what had transpired in Bath
—of course, he knew the reason. Anna thought he was a simple valet. Penniless and without any consequence. Surely, if she knew who he truly was, she would never dream of leaving him.

But as luck would have it, she probably woke up that morning and realized she was con
signing her future with a man of dim prospects. Somewhere between the thought of a lifelong commitment with him, trapped in backbreaking toil or running away to find a worthier protector—her true colors rose and she chose the latter. The love she professed so vehemently to him turned out to be nothing, but a passing fancy uttered during the height of passion—an empty promise easily swayed and discarded to the lure of other men with more gold.

He should be thankful for discovering her duplicity early on
—before his involvement with her became too extensive. The revelation of her superficial affection saved him from investing much time and trouble in making their relationship work. He should consider it a blessing—even though her measure of him in terms of coin—hurtled him to the depths of hell.

Allayne looked his father in the eye. "Whatever her reasons are, I do not intend to pursue her any longer," he said with determination. For no matter how much he wanted Anna, he simply could not accept a woman who loved
him based on his status and wealth.

Ironically, he remembered the way his sister Cassie shone with happiness as she gazed at Jeremy with open adoration on that beautiful spring day, when they arrived at Waterford Park after a morning of target practice. He
could still distinctly recall thinking, it must be nice to have someone waiting home for him,—someone who loves him that way; without any pretenses, without a second guess. Someone whose strong, pure kind of devotion could withstand the passing years.

Yes
—it must be nice.

With a twinge of guilt, he reflected on how he had likewise been pathetic and attempted to leave. But by God
—it only took him over a half hour of weakness, before he realized he couldn't live without her. No matter how poor she was. No matter if, she was relegated into service to his class. He went back for her—only to be confronted by the reality that she left him long beforehand.

Her abandonment felt like a sharp slap on his face. It had stung for weeks, spreading like smoldering tinder
encroaching on his skin until it finally scorched his heart. The pain was so acute it could only be deadened by his precious ally—the fragrant, full-bodied brandy, which even now, peered at him through the crystal decanter on the sideboard with tempting amber eyes.

The viscount rose from his chair and stood before him with a kindly paternal regard. "I'm sure you'll find another, my son," he said in a soothing tone, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

I don't want another!
Allayne rebelled in his mind, clenching his jaw to keep himself from pouring out his true feelings.

"What are you going to do now?" Jeremy asked.

Allayne paused for a moment before responding. "I've been thinking of traveling to America to see to our business affairs. I know I've been remiss in asset recovery as of late, but I plan to put everything in order once again."

Jeremy and Richard exchanged anxious glances.

"We'll come with you," Richard said.

"Thank you
—but no. You have wives and children to take care of and I need time alone. Oh, for Christ's sake—" Allayne glared at both men. "Will you please quit looking at me as if I'm the Undertaker? I'm not going to murder anyone—yet—unless the bastards piss me off."

"That's what we're worried about," Jeremy said.

"When will you sail?" Viscount Rose asked.

"In five days. I've already made the preliminary arrangements, and yesterday, our secretary booked my passage."

"When are you coming back?" Richard asked.

Allayne studied the intricate patterns on the Aubusson carpet before replying, "When
I'm ready."

"Which is
—?" Jeremy arched a dark brow at him.

"I don
’t know," Allayne said, in a bleak tone.

Silence fell once again in the room.

~

In the luxurious drawing room of Weston Court, Alexandra sat ramrod straight on the settee opposite the chair occupied by her most ardent suitor, the Duke of Redfellow. Not far behind her, her new maid, Polly, sat knitting a sock in the corner.

"I hope I am not boring you with my tales of adventure," the duke said.

"Oh, no, Your Grace," Alexandra replied. "Your stories are quite extraordinary."

She had spoken the truth. These days, confined at Weston Court with nothing else to do except retch and stuff herself with all the bonbons and kippers she could get her hands on, the duke's company had been a most welcome re
spite.

Alexandra regarded the elderly gentleman with renewed curiosity. Amongst her suitors, he was the only one whom she was genuinely fond of. Regrettably, he was also her only suitor who was in his twilight years.

For today's visit, the duke recounted his exploits during his younger days in Africa. His saga held Alexandra enthralled and the misadventures with his old friends kept her laughing with glee. For as long as she could remember since she turned three and twenty, four years ago, each appointment they'd had, had been filled with lively discussions of cultures abroad, highlighted by the duke's first-hand explorations.

"Ah
—we shouldn't have brought the monkey with us back to England," the duke was saying. "The first thing he did was invade the kitchen and eat all of Cook's stock of fruits. Then, he had the audacity to fling a banana peel at my butler's face when he tried to catch him."

Alexandra chortled. She could just imagine the stern butler's chagrin at having the slimy peel plastered upon his no
se.

"Mister Bardot
—God rest his soul," the duke said. "He threatened to resign the following day, forcing me to choose between him and the monkey."

"What did you do?" Alexandra asked in earnest.

"I chose both," the duke laughed. "But, I had to send the monkey to one of my estates in the wild country so he could have the run of the land."

Alexandra listened in fascination as the duke narrated stories of the monkey's new domain. In spite of his age, the duke seemed years younger when he reminisced about the p
ast. She felt sorry that she hadn't been born earlier. She would have fancied meeting him in his prime—for he was intellectual and very much a gentleman.