Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (36 page)

“No,” she continued, bringing herself back to the current matter. “But I am sure he will see me. It is a matter of the utmost urgency.”

He surveyed her in a manner she found most insolent, taking in her elaborate Court costume, and then seemed to come to a decision.

“If ye’d care to wait in the hall, Miss Cunningham, I’ll see if Sir Anthony is at home to visitors.”

He disappeared up the polished wooden stairs, and Beth sat down on a velvet-upholstered chair, looking around with interest. She had never been to Sir Anthony’s house before. He had told her he rented a house for the season in common with many other gentlefolk, but she had expected that he would have added some personal touches. Almost every house she had been in had family portraits hung in the hall and on the stairs, showing the impressive ancestry of the family in residence.

The only painting in Sir Anthony’s hall was a rather indifferent landscape, depicting a few shaggy-haired cattle grazing on a piece of barren moorland. The stairs were bare of any pictures at all. With nothing to focus her mind on, she started to run through what she was going to say, trying and rejecting different opening lines. As time went on she started to feel unaccountably nervous, which was ridiculous. She didn’t even like the man that much. If he rejected her apology, well, at least she could leave with a clear conscience. Caroline and Edwin would still remain her friends. Her life would be no poorer without Sir Anthony’s affected mannerisms.

A sudden polite cough roused her from her reverie, and she jumped to her feet. Sir Anthony was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his expression neutral. She had no idea how long he had been there observing her, and in her confusion her carefully rehearsed opening lines flew from her mind.

“Oh! Er...I am sorry to disturb you, Sir Anthony,” she faltered. “I hope I have not called at an inconvenient moment.”

She expected him to either invite her into the drawing room for tea, or make some gushing comment about how improper it was for her to visit him unchaperoned. He did neither, instead regarding her silently for a moment.

“You said the matter was of the utmost urgency. What is it?” he said brusquely.

This was so unlike his usual attitude that she was completely unnerved.

“I, er, I have come to apologise, Sir Anthony,” she said.

He raised one eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“I accused you unjustly of taking pleasure in hurting me, and I realise now that I was wrong. Caroline explained that you had been driven to such a measure by the fact that I refused to see you in private, and...”

“She had no right to say that,” he interrupted. “Did she also tell you to come here and apologise to me?”

“No!” Beth exclaimed. “I would never apologise to anyone because I was instructed to do so! Caroline merely helped me to see your side of the situation. I refused to let you explain to me, for which I am also sorry. When I expressed a desire to apologise, she suggested I write a letter, or wait until next week.”

“I see. And why did you not take her advice? It is somewhat irregular for an unmarried lady to call upon a bachelor alone. A letter would have been the more respectable way.”

She stared at him, cold, forbidding and unyielding. He was not going to accept her apology. For some unaccountable reason she felt distressed at the thought.
I am overwrought, that is all,
she told herself.
The slightest thing would upset me at the moment.

“You are right,” she said, trying to match his cold attitude. “I did not wish to wait to put matters right between us. But I see the damage cannot be undone. Goodbye.” Her voice wavered on the last word and she cursed inwardly, walking past him toward the door. Her fingers were on the knob when he reached past her, putting his hand on the door to stop her opening it.

“Why?” he said softly. “Why did you not wish to wait?”

She turned round. He was standing very close to her; she had to tilt her head right back to look into his eyes. They were a lovely shade of slate blue, with tiny flecks of gold in the irises. He held her gaze, earnest, intent, and her mouth was suddenly dry. Without the overpowering cologne he smelt of fresh linen and an attractive clean male smell. She tore her eyes away from his with difficulty, looking instead straight ahead. She focussed her eyes on the silver button of his waistcoat.

“Because I never like to leave any difficult matter unresolved for any longer than I have to,” she said.

“Is that the only reason?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. What other reason could there be?” she replied, her voice more confident now.

He stepped back, away from her, and seemed to diminish, to shrink into himself.

“Well then,” he said, and before her eyes the Sir Anthony she was more familiar with repossessed him. “Let me reassure you my dear, there need be no more difficulty between us. I accept your apology. Let us put the whole unfortunate incident behind us, and speak no more of it. Now, I would dearly love to invite you to dine with me, but I do not think it would be wise to risk the speculation that would ensue if I did.”

“No, indeed,” she replied, wishing nothing more than to get out of the presence of this extremely disturbing man.

“My carriage is, of course, at your disposal. My man will take you home immediately. Your family will no doubt by now be wondering where you are.” He smiled.

How does he do it?
she thought as she rode home. How did he put on and take off personalities so easily? She had seen three, no four, different sides to Sir Anthony today, and was still no closer to knowing the real man than she had ever been.

Chapter Thirteen

June 1743

Dear Friends,

Thank you for your letter, and the very useful information regarding the accounts, and the sale of surplus butter, which of course Richard and probably Edward too read before passing it on to me. It has been wonderful for me to be able to write to you from the heart (thanks to Sarah), but very frustrating not to be able to receive replies of the same kind. Knowing you are well and that the hens are laying profusely is all well and good, but I am sure you have a great deal more to tell me than that! I am writing to tell you that I now have a secure address, where I can receive letters without my family being any the wiser.

I have mentioned Edwin and Caroline before, and have now confided my difficulties to them. They have suggested that you write to me care of their address, and they will pass on your letters unopened. I trust them implicitly, and you may write anything you wish to them in complete security.

It goes without saying that Thomas will have to continue writing his polite letters to this address, and I will reply to those as I have been doing.

Life has been going on here as normal. I have not seen Lord Daniel since I refused him, and hope I never have the misfortune to run into him again. Sir Anthony and I are once again good acquaintances, although I still cannot bring myself to trust or really like him, in spite of Caroline and Edwin’s assurances.

The scurrilous lie Daniel put about regarding my mother seems to have been negated by the fact that it is now common knowledge that I am in the good graces of both the Elector and his hideous son the Duke of Cumberland. I was relieved beyond measure when the musical evening was postponed due to the indisposition of Mr Handel, and as both George and William are now abroad, and look to be so for some time, ( I could wish it to be a permanent state) I can bask in the glory of my royal favour without any danger of encountering them.

Neither Richard nor Edward have mentioned the rumour about my mother. I think they must have heard it, even though Caroline did squash it almost immediately.

Well, I must give this letter to Sarah, and look forward to hearing from you very soon. I miss you all.

Your friend, Beth.

* * *

“Are you sure these are the latest thing in France?” Beth said, clutching the tiny embroidered bag to her chest. Isabella and Clarissa were carrying the same fashion accessory, a present from the gentleman Beth was now addressing, but in a far more careless manner than their cousin.

“I assure you, my dear Elizabeth, the reticule is the very height of fashion,” Sir Anthony simpered.

“They are the very height of stupidity,” she said, scowling at the other shoppers on the Strand, expecting an urchin to fly out of a back alley at any moment and relieve her of the useless article. “Either there is very little theft in France, or the ladies there are extremely careless of their possessions. I feel much safer keeping my valuables in a concealed pocket.”

“You worry too much, my dear,” came the reply. “No one would dare to molest either you or your charming cousins. Not with myself and the formidable Sergeant Cunningham to protect you.”

The formidable Sergeant Cunningham leaned against the shop doorway, wishing that a group of thieves would carry off not just the ladies’ reticules, but also the ladies themselves, and thus relieve him of this purgatory. He couldn’t think what had possessed him to agree to Edward’s suggestion that he accompany the ladies and Sir Anthony on a shopping trip. He had just spent four of the most boring hours of his life traipsing round shop after shop, whilst his companions exclaimed over a ridiculous assortment of useless and overpriced trinkets, and he had had no opportunity at all to take Sir Anthony to one side and try to re-establish his acquaintance with him, which had unaccountably cooled of late. He couldn’t stand the man, but as Edward had pointed out, he
did
have considerable connections. Why, it was even rumoured that the king himself had taken the time to write to him from his temporary base in Hanover. He sighed, and followed reluctantly as Isabella plunged into yet another shop, which sold a selection of hat trimmings and hair decorations.

Beth was already inside, paying for some ribbons and decorated hair grips, which she intended to give to Sarah as a birthday present. She fumbled angrily with the clasp of the reticule.

“This is the most ridiculous...!” she began, then lunged forward as the clasp sprang open and the contents threatened to tumble from the purse. She succeeded in rescuing her possessions, except for a few coins, which cascaded to the floor and rolled merrily off under the shelves.

“That’s it!” she said. “I am sorry, Sir Anthony, please don’t think me ungrateful, but this is the most useless present I have ever received.”

“Well of course it is,” he replied, not offended in the slightest. “It is not intended to be
useful,
it is a fashion accessory. I would suggest that in future you carry no more than the money you require for the day’s purchases in it, and keep everything else in the concealed pockets you’re so fond of. Allow me.” He leaned across and paid the shopkeeper with a coin he had produced from the far more practical pocket of his waistcoat. “Now, may I suggest we all repair for a little refreshment before we indulge in any more shopping?” He leaned over confidentially to Richard, who was frowning ominously at his sister, although she was too preoccupied to notice. “I have received the most interesting news from Hanover, and would like to discuss it with you over coffee, if you would be so kind, Sergeant Cunningham.”

After dinner, to which Sir Anthony had been invited, the men retired to Lord Edward’s study and the ladies to their rooms, exhausted by the excitement of the day’s shopping. Beth was far from exhausted, but took the welcome opportunity to spend some time alone, and before going to her room went to the library to choose a book. She still had the ridiculous reticule with her. The ladies had arrived home late; dinner had already been delayed, and as Edward had been in no mood to wait any longer, they had eaten without changing first. Beth had placed her bag behind her on her chair. She had no wish for the thing to spring open and shower its contents all over the dining table. Sir Anthony had been right. She should not have put her most treasured possession in the bag. She would not do that again. She must find a secure hiding place in her room, where a maid could not accidentally come upon it. Either that or continue as she had been, carrying it with her at all times in a secure pocket tied around her waist under her skirt.

She searched the shelves for an interesting book, her eyes finally coming to rest on a likely title. Reaching up onto her toes, she attempted to reach the volume, but the tips of her fingers stopped several inches below the bottom edge of the shelf where the book was sitting, leaving it tantalisingly beyond her grasp. She tried an experimental jump, but the books were too closely packed on the shelf for her to retrieve the volume whilst in mid-air. Knowing herself to be alone, she cursed in a most unladylike manner under her breath, before looking round for a suitable piece of furniture which could be used in lieu of a ladder.

Dismissing the spindly-legged and distinctly fragile table, which looked barely capable of supporting the decanter of brandy and two crystal glasses that were currently residing on it, her eyes settled on one of the upholstered chairs which was placed close to the fire.

She was halfway across the room when the library door suddenly opened and Richard walked in, pushing the door closed behind him. For once Beth was glad to see him.

“Ah, Richard,” she said, abandoning her progress towards the chair. “I’ve been trying to get a book off one of the shelves, but it’s just a little too high for me to reach. Could you get it down for me, please?”

“Where is your reticule?” he asked brusquely, ignoring her request completely, his back to the door as though to prevent anyone else from entering.

“What?” she said, confused by the unexpected question.

“Don’t prevaricate with me. Where is it?” His stance was aggressive, his tone abrupt. She had no idea what interest he could have in her reticule, but his attitude roused her temper immediately, and her response matched his tone.