Regency Rumours/A Scandalous Mistress/Dishonour And Desire (9 page)

She had little choice but to watch him march briskly away towards the house, knowing that he would find his way out as easily as he’d found his way in.

Planting tulip bulbs was as good a way as any of dissipating anger, though this time it was only partly effective, even after Amelie had lectured the polished copper bulbs on being fortunate enough to have everything they needed, that they had nothing to complain of, not even a lack of companionship. It was the missing element in her own life that no talking-to would be able to reverse.

Signifying everything she had lacked in her marriage, Lord Elyot’s kiss had brought home to her for the second time how little attention she paid to her own physical needs, perhaps deliberately. His hands on her body, his desirous eyes, his deeply moving voice, his authoritative manner that both riled and fascinated her. Josiah had had other sterling qualities, but this was the first time a man had aroused in her such intensely disturbing emotions, combining dislike and fear with a yearning to be near him. He would never know, she told the fecund bulbs, what his kiss had meant to her and, though he had detected a lack of practice, he would surely put it down to her two years of widowhood without taking into account the two bleak years that had gone before. Her despair was for what she had missed, for what she had just been allowed to see, and for what she would never taste again, for by now his enquiries must be nearing some kind of conclusion.

It would mean little to him, of course, one way or the other. His sort made a game of such minor diversions, of teasing respectable
women before leaving them to pick up the broken pieces. Twisting the old dry roots from the base of a bulb, she allowed indignation to take the place of sorrow. ‘Well, not
me
, my lord,’ she growled. ‘I know exactly what to expect from
you
any day now.’

That same day, Amelie’s obliging young footman, Henry, carried a note to a certain Mr Ruben Hurst at Number 9 King Street from where the mail-coach departed for London three times daily. So intent on his mission was Henry that he failed to notice Lord Seton Rayne resting there on his way home from delivering Miss Chester safely back at Paradise Road. Nor did Henry notice that he was being overheard asking for Mr Hurst, or being told that Mr Hurst had already taken the mail-coach half an hour earlier. Tucking the note back into his waistcoat pocket, Henry was observed leaving the posting-office, whistling.

As Lord Rayne had been asked by his brother, Lord Elyot, to keep his eyes peeled for anything havey-cavey, he thought the incident worth reporting, though this he was unable to do until after his brother’s long consultation with Todd, the coachman who had just returned to Sheen Court from his visit to the north.

A
fter helping to plant tulips without noticing her aunt’s unusual preoccupation with the task, Caterina went to her room to write her weekly epistle to her father and brother in Buxton. She followed this with a more chatty account of her doings to Sara, her younger sister.

Lady Chester’s new house on Paradise Road was known only as Number Eighteen. Found for her by her agent, then extended and renovated to conform to Amelie’s requirements before her move, it had been on the same site in one form or another for close on three hundred years, growing and evolving through each new style, now more like a mansion than the original timbered cottage. From the road, the white stone façade was elegantly four-storied, the front door with a beautiful fanlight above and accessed by a paved bridge across the basement yard known as ‘the area’.

Through the large double gates along the adjoining wall, the land surrounding the house was more extensive than one might think. Here was not only a sizeable formal garden, a hothouse, kitchen gardens and an orchard, but also a square courtyard surrounded by the kitchen buildings, the servants’ quarters, offices and stores and, beyond all that, the coach house and stables.

In the Peak District of Derbyshire, Amelie’s previous existence had been countrified on a larger scale than this, her
entertaining both lavish and frequent in accordance with her husband’s status. At Chester Hall she had tended the preserving of plums and the drying of apple rings, she had pickled walnuts and helped to lay down spare eggs in ash, store the pears, pot the beef and concoct lemon wine using brandy smuggled through Scarborough and Whitby. She had fish on her table from her own ponds and streams, her own ducks and geese, vegetables and fruit enough to send up to the Manchester house and, best of all, she had her own blooms to draw and paint. There was very little that Sir Josiah had denied her—intended, they both knew, to make up for what she could not have.

Being offered her niece’s company for the next phase of her life had required some consideration, but whereas it meant accepting a responsibility she had not anticipated, the diversions had so far been entertaining, even satisfying. Caterina was good company, eager to learn, intelligent, well-mannered and, thank heaven, possesssed of a natural grace that was easy to clothe. The new riding habit she had worn that morning fitted her shapely young figure like a dream, already attracting some admiration from the men and envy from the women.

They had gone riding in the park well before breakfast to avoid meeting certain acquaintances, and a party of young officers from the local militia at Kew had hung around them to stare and to vie for her attention. But Caterina had acquitted herself well and had even managed a comfortable trot attached to the head groom’s leading rein. Fortunately, they had not met anyone disagreeable to Amelie, who had already begun to reap the benefits of having attended the ball, for now there were several waves and smiles and calls of, ‘Good morning to you, Lady Chester.’

***

Clattering into the stable yard two hours later, however, was like a sneaky winter breeze to cool Amelie’s warm praise of her niece, for there, being walked up and down by a groom in Lord Elyot’s grey livery was a very large and glossy dark bay with a double-bridle. On a marble table in the front hall of the house lay a beaver hat, a pair of leather gloves and a riding whip, with a rather concerned Henry standing by to tell his mistress that Lord Elyot felt sure she would not mind him waiting.

Biting back the very obvious reply, she asked instead, ‘Where?’

‘In the morning room, m’lady.’

‘Very well, Henry. Caterina, go up and change, dear. Then go and take a little breakfast, then perhaps a little practice on the pianoforte. The new Haydn sonata we bought the other day—you might take a look at it.’ She would have given much to go with her instead of to the council of war in the morning room. The staircase seemed twice as high, for she knew why he had come at this early hour and why he had insisted on waiting.

Pausing only to remove her gloves, hat and veil, Amelie half-expected to see her visitor standing on the hearth with hands clasped behind his back, as her late husband had often done to hear an account of her activities. But Lord Elyot was reading the newspaper over by the window and did not hear Amelie’s quiet entry through the rattle of the paper as he fought with a wayward page.

She caught sight of herself in the round ornate mirror over the mantelshelf, like a miniature fashion plate of a highwaisted habit of soft violet velvet with a mandarin collar open at the neck to show the delicate ruffle of lace on her habit-shirt. Her brown curls, however, were in a mess. No matter,
she thought. Who was there to impress? She closed the door with a loud click, taking pleasure in the crash of paper as he turned, quickly.

‘Ah, Lady Chester. Do forgive me.’ He laid the crumpled heap of newspaper upon the table, then stood to perform an elegant bow.

‘You’ve waited all this time to apologise, my lord? Well, then, I shall accept it on condition that it never happens again. Which I think is a safe bet in the circumstances. Don’t you?’

His smile was full of admiration. ‘On the contrary, my lady, I think it an extremely dodgy one. In any case, I never apologise for kissing a woman. So very hypocritical.’

Refusing to be drawn further along that line, Amelie went to pick up the crumpled newspaper and, carrying it between her finger and thumb to the door, dropped it outside. ‘Then I think,’ she said, moving to the striped sofa, ‘that you had no need to wait so long.’ She waved a hand towards the nearest chair, trying to appear calm and in command of the situation. ‘If you do not mean to apologise, then what can be the purpose of your visit?’

‘Given your record of being out when I call, even when you’re in, I thought it wiser to be in first, while you were out, so that we could stand a fair chance of being
in
together. Eventually.’

‘Ah, to be of such importance,’ she sighed, gazing at the top of the sash window. ‘Can you bear to get to the point, I wonder?’

Slipping one hand into the front of his deep blue morning-coat, Lord Elyot pulled out a velvet reticule and passed it to her, dangling it by its long drawstrings. ‘Yours, I believe? Or that of a certain Ginny Hodge?’ he said.

Amelie’s heart pounded. This was horribly unexpected.
Frowning, she took it. ‘Who? Why would you think this was mine, my lord?’

He leaned back into the chair, making a steeple with his fingers. ‘For two reasons—one is that it had one of your visiting cards inside.’

‘Which this … Ginny person … could have stolen. How did you come by it?’

‘The man who picked it up after you had been mugged on the night you went up to the workhouse followed you home again. You were riding a donkey named Isabelle.’

‘Todd!’ The name escaped before she could prevent it.

‘Exactly. My coachman.’

So, he must have known of this for quite some time.

Her heart still hammered under the strain of staying calm. ‘And does this prove something, my lord? Apart from being robbed, is it a crime to ride one’s donkey at night?’

‘It
is
a crime to bribe His Majesty’s servants to release people in their custody,’ he said, quietly. ‘You did not quite manage it that time, but you have done it several times before through your servants, I understand. Those who live at the workhouse have been sent there by the authorities, my lady. By the Vestry, in other words. Any release must be done through the proper channels, not by stealth or bribery, or without permission. You sent a man up there to try again while you were with me at the Castle. Am I correct?’

‘So it
was
you who prevented—’ Unbidden, the words tripped out.

‘Prevented?’

‘Prevented that poor woman from giving birth to her child in decent surroundings,’ she snapped. ‘It
was
you, wasn’t it? You told them to keep her there at all costs because your
father is the local magistrate who heads the Vestry who put her there in the first place. And no matter how inhumane, how stigmatising, how downright
dangerous
it is for a child to be born in a workhouse, your father’s interests must come first. Think how he would look if the poor unfortunates were cared for properly,’ she went on, striding across to the window. ‘Would he ever hold his head up in Richmond again?’

‘So you admit—’

‘What good would it do me to deny it?’ she said, sifting through the untidy pile of music sheets on top of the pianoforte. The Haydn sonata caught her eye as she hit the edges with a clack on the rosewood surface. She slammed them down. ‘Do your worst, my lord. There must be more serious crimes a woman can commit than trying to help those less prosperous than herself. If that’s so wrong, then it’s time the law was changed.’

‘It isn’t a crime when it’s done openly and above board. By your method, any gypsy or conman could bribe his way in and take his pick of anyone there, even a child, and whisk it away in the dark, never to be seen again. The rules are there to safeguard—’

‘I would have
cared
for them,’ she croaked, on the verge of tears. ‘I would have … oh, you would not understand. People like me are loose screws and addle-pates, are we not? And the women in that predicament not worth rescuing.’

‘Women who get themselves into
that
kind of predicament—’

She rounded on him, furiously. ‘Tell me, how does a woman do that, my lord? Any woman who gets
herself
with child will be the talk of the century, surely. Don’t talk such nonsense. And in any case, I am not a gypsy or a conman. I am Lady Chester and I know what women need.’

‘Then why could you not have gone to the Vestry with your suggestions?’

Sending him a withering look of scorn, she replied, ‘Because there was no time for all that. Do you think a woman can wait a week or two while the Vestry makes its mind up?’

‘So what about the men released from the pound since you came to Richmond? That was your doing too? And the child?’

‘Yes, and I’m proud of my success. The men were desperate. They had families to feed. The child had stolen a carrot. Yes, my lord, a
carrot.
There now, you can tell the noble Marquess how diligent you’ve been, and then I can remind you how accurate my prediction was, can’t I?’

‘About the end of our friendship? Well, yes, that’s quite a collection of skeletons you have in your closet. It must be quite a large closet, for there are still more to come, I believe.’

‘Let me help you out, my lord, to spare you the effort. You have my card with my old Buxton address on it, so you sent your man up there to rake up all the tittle-tattle he could find about Sir Josiah and Lady Chester. And how do I know? Because your Mr Todd bumped into Ruben Hurst, who warned me. You see, I’ve known for days, like you. And now you know all, and if I’m not arrested for perverting the course of justice, then I shall certainly make no progress whatever in society. Poor Caterina.’

Poor Caterina entered on cue just in time to hear the sentiment. Standing with one hand on the brass door-handle, she looked from one to the other, hoping for an explanation.

Lord Elyot came promptly to his feet. ‘Miss Chester,’ he said.

‘Caterina,’ said Amelie. ‘I was saying what a pity it was that you’d have to come looking for the Haydn. Here it is, my dear. Use the other pianoforte, will you?’ She handed over the bundle of music sheets with a smile.

‘Yes, Aunt. Thank you.’

‘Miss Chester,’ said Lord Elyot, ‘I believe that in a matter of …’he took a gold fob-watch from his waistcoat pocket, flicked open the cover and glanced at it ‘… about ten minutes, my brother will be calling upon you. He’s a great admirer of Mr Haydn.’

Caterina’s sweet face lit up with a smile. ‘Is he really, my lord? Oh!’ The door closed again, leaving the two opponents to face each other for the next bout. Lord Elyot resumed his seat. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘about the duel, if you will. Would it pain you too much?’

Amelie had sensed it coming and had to turn away to hide her face from him. Now she must control the anguish that came every time she thought about it. ‘Oh,’ she said, taking a slow deep breath, ‘I expect you must have heard. People are usually ever ready to give their own version of events.’

‘That’s why I’d like to hear yours, my lady. I heard that Hurst was responsible for your husband’s death. You should have allowed me to have him arrested while there was still a chance, instead of warning him to flee. I take it that’s what your message to him contained?’

Her curls bounced as she whipped round to glare angrily at him. ‘You have spies posted at every corner, do you? You must live a depressingly dull life to go to such lengths. Yes, if you must know, I did warn him to flee, but he’d already gone.’

‘But why warn him? Because you desire his safety? Your amazing generosity is sometimes hard to understand, my lady.’