The Wicked Baron (10 page)

They walked the length of the terrace and back again in an amicable silence, but as they approached the long windows Carlotta said, ‘Come, the music has finished so we had best return; my next partner will be looking for me.’

They made their way back to the saloon so much at ease with each other that when Carlotta spotted a patch of dust upon the shoulder of his coat she did not hesitate to mention it.

‘My lord, you have pollen on your shoulder from the bushes.’

Smiling, she was reaching up to brush it away as they walked back through one of the long windows. Then the viscount stopped suddenly and she looked up to see Lord Darvell blocking their way.

Carlotta felt the blood draining from her face. Her hand was still on the viscount’s shoulder and as he stopped she was obliged to lean against him to correct her balance.
Luke stood before her, his face stony. Carlotta gathered her courage. She must be strong; he could not hurt her here, in front of all these people. She stepped away from the viscount, smiling.

‘Thank you, my lord. I must find my next partner…’

He bowed and turned away. Luke’s hand shot out and gripped her arm.

‘My dance, I think.’

Carlotta glared at him. A young man came up, saying shyly, ‘Miss Rivington, I believe you are engaged to dance this gavotte with me—’

He put out his hand, but Luke was already pushing past him, dragging Carlotta on to the dance floor. The young man looked confused.

‘Miss Rivington—’

‘Go to the devil!’ snarled Luke.

Carlotta tried to pull her hand away, but Luke’s grip was inflexible as iron. He almost flung her into position on his right, his stormy gaze daring her to run away. Carlotta ran her tongue nervously over her lips and glanced around her. Everyone was intent on taking their places for the gavotte. She must not draw attention to herself; it would not do to cause a scene. She dragged her head up. One dance, that was all. She would get through it. She knew the steps, but faltered a little when she turned to face her partner. His eyes bored into her, no longer a laughing hazel, but cold and hard as polished stone. The tense line of his jaw revealed his anger.

‘What were you doing on the terrace with Fairbridge?’

Her brows rose. A tiny spark of an idea nudged at her brain. Could his anger be caused by
jealousy
? Not that she cared a jot for him, of course. She gave him as haughty a look as she could manage.

‘I do not see that I need discuss such things with you, my lord.’

‘Do you think he would even look at you if he knew your real name?’

His voice was low so that no one else could hear him. Knowing that the viscount had set his heart on Julia Price, Carlotta was able give him a glittering smile.

‘Oh, I do not think it would make one jot of difference to him. But, naturally it is more advantageous to use Lord Broxted’s family name. It confers an added dignity.’ They turned away from each other, and as they came back together she added, ‘Especially when one is looking for a husband.’

She noted his scowl with savage satisfaction as she completed the move.

‘And has all this
added dignity
produced a suitor worthy of your consideration?’ he asked.

‘Several.’

His grip on her fingers tightened painfully, but she would not complain.

‘No doubt they will be delighted to know the extra skills you will bring with you, just think of the savings—no expensive Chinese silks for your walls, my dear, you will have original paintings, all your own work. No doubt you will devise something…suitable for the bedroom.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Your wit, my lord, is better suited to a tavern than a
ton
party!’

‘And how would you know that, unless you were born in one?’ he threw back at her. ‘An Italian tavern, no doubt.’

She bit her lip, anxious that the other couples should not hear their bickering. She made her swift pirouette and the dance continued, everyone laughing and chattering as they executed the gavotte steps. Carlotta smiled until her cheeks
ached. She looked up at Luke, who seemed to be smiling quite naturally, yet when they came close he snarled at her through clenched teeth, ‘By God, you deserve that I should expose your deception.’

Carlotta grew cold. For herself she did not care, but her aunt and uncle—they were so anxious to conceal her history, she must do all she could to avoid embarrassing them. ‘You could not be so cruel.’

He was standing behind her, their hands held high. He muttered savagely into her ear, ‘Oh, I can be much worse than this, my dear. I intend to let you carry on with your little charade, but remember, I know the truth about you—I can bring it to an end whenever I wish.’

He turned her around and she glared at him, her palm itching to slap his smiling face, but he held tightly to her hands. ‘Smile, Carlotta, the gentlemen like to see a happy face.’

Her eyes glittered. Mechanically she performed her steps, forcing herself to sink into the final, graceful curtsy to her partner. He bowed, then removed the white rose from his buttonhole and handed it to her.

‘A token, Miss Rivington, that you may remember this dance.’

Mechanically she put out her hand, but kept her eyes fixed on his face. He looked so cold, so merciless that her fingers clenched, closing around the stem until the sharp stab of a thorn brought her to her senses. She must face the truth—it was not jealousy that made him act so. He hated her, and she had given him every inducement to do so by acting as a heartless fortune hunter. Tears burned her eyelids and she blinked them away. No one should see her misery.

Still smiling, Luke took her arm and led her off the
dance floor. Angrily Carlotta pulled away. Giving him one last, scorching look, she dropped the rose, turned on her heel and walked quickly towards Lady Broxted, who was talking with Mr Price. With his long stride, Luke had no difficulty keeping pace with her; as they approached, Mr Price beamed at them.

‘There, sir, I was watching you go down the dance. Capital entertainment, eh, my lord? Miss Rivington makes an excellent partner, does she not?’

Carlotta seethed as Luke bowed and smiled at her.

‘Indeed, sir, I have rarely enjoyed a dance more. She is a true artist.’

Stifling her indignation Carlotta turned away. Behind them a console table held a dish of confits and she hovered near it on the pretext of choosing a sweetmeat.

‘Let me recommend the marzipan.’ She heard Lord Darvell’s voice in her ear. ‘I believe it is an
Italian
delicacy.’

‘I wish you would leave me alone,’ she muttered.

‘Now why should I do that, when there is such good sport to be had?’

Carlotta hunched a shoulder. She began to fan herself rapidly. So, the battle lines were drawn. At every opportunity Lord Darvell would taunt her. It seemed cruel, when he was the one who had deserted her—even now the memory of those halcyon days at Malberry still had the power to hurt her. But she would never admit that; pride would not allow it.

She suddenly felt desperately weary, longing to leave this crowded, busy life where she could not relax and be herself. In a mood of deep depression she thought of asking her aunt to take her away from London. The words hovered on her tongue.

‘My dear child, you are very flushed.’ Lady Broxted regarded her anxiously. ‘Are you unwell, are you not enjoying yourself?’

Her resolve wavered—how could she be so ungrateful when her aunt had gone to so much trouble on her behalf?

‘I am enjoying myself very much, Aunt, thank you. I am just a little warm.’

‘Aye, town is grown white hot,’ agreed Mr Price. ‘But I have good news for you, I have just been talking with your aunt—you will not object if I tell Miss Rivington what is decided, ma’am? We are all to go away for the summer! There, you will like that, I am sure.’

‘Go away?’ Carlotta offered up a prayer of thankfulness. ‘Aunt, that is splendid news! Where are we going, and how soon?

Lady Broxted laughed and put up her hands. ‘Good heavens, my dear, how eager you are to be away from here.’

Carlotta flushed. ‘Forgive me, I mean nothing against Broxted House, dear aunt, but Mr Price is right—London is growing so very warm.’

Mr Price nodded at her. ‘Aye, my dear, we are all feeling it. Poor Julia suffers dreadfully. This invitation has come just in time.’

‘So?’ Carlotta was eager to find out more. The idea of leaving town was too tempting. ‘Where are we going, Aunt—is it Brighton? Worthing? Mr Price, will you not tell me?’

Mr Price beamed at her. ‘Mrs Ainslowe has invited us all to Malberry Court for the summer!’

Carlotta stared. Her dreams of escaping her tormentor crumbled away to dust. Behind her, she heard Luke laugh softly.

‘M
alberry Court?’ Carlotta shot a swift, questioning glance at her aunt.

‘Your uncle has already agreed everything,’ said Lady Broxted, a hint of reproach in her voice. ‘We are to travel to Malberry at the end of the month.’

‘Aye,’ cried Mr Price. ‘And a merry party we shall make of it, eh, ma’am? If you will excuse me, now, I see my dear wife is beckoning to me, so I shall go and see what she wants.’ He beamed at them again. ‘I shall leave you ladies to talk about the treat in store for you!’

Carlotta knew that a crowded room was no place to discuss the forthcoming visit to Malberry Court and, by the time the last of the guests had left, Lady Broxted wanted nothing more than to retire to her room. Carlotta was obliged to wait until the morning to express her anxiety.

When she learned at breakfast that her aunt was keeping to her room after the rigours of the party, she would not be put off any longer. She found her aunt sitting up in bed, sipping at her hot chocolate.

‘Aunt, do I disturb you? I need to talk to you.’

Lady Broxted waved away her maid. ‘Of course you do not disturb me, child. Come, sit on the edge of the bed and tell me what is making you look so anxious.’

‘Dear ma’am, surely you have guessed? The visit to Malberry Court—is it wise for us to go, do you think? I mean, with Mama and Papa in the village…’

Lady Broxted gave her an odd little look. She put down her cup carefully.

‘My dear, your uncle arranged it all with the Ainslowes last night.
I
had nothing to do with it. I said it was asking for trouble to go to the Court when your parents are living so close, but he thinks there is no reason why anyone should make the connection. And, of course, it does mean that we may be able to arrange for you to visit them while we are there. Discreetly, of course. But you would like that, would you not?’

‘Oh, yes, very much.’ Carlotta twisted her hands together. ‘But what if someone at the Court should recognise me?’

Lady Broxted shook her head, smiling. ‘Now how could that be? As you have said yourself, we took you away from Malberry before the Ainslowes moved in to the Court. Silly child, I think you are worrying unnecessarily.’

‘But when Papa was working, I sometimes went up to the house with him…’

Lady Broxted sat up at that. ‘Mercy me! Who saw you there?’

‘The—the workmen, of course, and…and Kemble, Mr Ainslowe’s clerk of works.’

Carlotta waited anxiously while her aunt frowned over this, tapping her fingers together.

‘But there were no household staff there?’

‘No, ma’am.’

‘The workmen will have been paid off by now. And the clerk of works, you say? Well, it is very unlikely that he will remember you, for you are a very different creature now. And if you visited your father once or twice while he was working, I dare say this—this Kemble scarcely noticed you.’

‘It—it was more than once or twice, aunt.’ Carlotta screwed up her courage. ‘I—um—I painted two of the ceiling frescoes.’

‘You did what?’

Lady Broxted fell back against her pillows, her colour fluctuating alarmingly. Carlotta jumped off the bed.

‘Shall I call your maid, ma’am?’

‘No, no, I shall be better in a moment. You may fetch my smelling salts from the table over there…ugh! Thank you. That is better.’

Carlotta watched anxiously as her aunt lay back on her pillows, eyes closed. Eventually, she sat up again, a look of long suffering etched upon her features.

‘I think you should tell me the whole.’

‘Papa had broken his leg—’

‘Yes, yes, I know that, for he was laid up when we called upon you.’

‘Well, the house was so nearly finished, there were two small ceiling frescoes to be painted and no one else to do it, so…I painted them.’

‘Good heavens. And…and this was on a ceiling, you say?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Which entailed…. climbing a ladder?’

Carlotta nodded.

‘And the workmen saw you?’ Lady Broxted’s colour began to rise again.

‘It was not so very bad. You see, I was wearing breeches, and—’

Lady Broxted shrieked and put her hands over her face. ‘Breeches! Oh, heavens, we are undone!’

‘No, no. Dear Aunt, you said yourself that the workmen will be gone.’ Carlotta sought to reassure her. ‘And Mr Kemble will not connect fashionable Miss Rivington with her curls and ringlets with little Carlotta Durini, even if our paths should cross, which is highly unlikely.’ She paused. ‘However, I think it might be best to cry off—could you not say that I am unwell, and we could retire to the country for the summer?’

Carlotta waited hopefully, but her aunt shook her head.

‘No, your uncle would never hear of it. He was so pleased with himself for arranging the whole.’

‘But why, ma’am? I know he is good friends with Mr Ainslowe, but surely it would not cause such great offence if we did not go—’

‘It is not quite so simple, Carlotta.’ Lady Broxted twisted the edge of the sheet between her fingers. ‘Mr Ainslowe has invited a large number of guests to Malberry.’

‘Then our absence will be less noticeable.’

‘He has invited Lord Fairbridge and Mr Woollatt to join the party, and they have accepted.’

Carlotta smiled. ‘Oh? I am sure they will all have a very pleasant time.’

‘You do not understand! Broxted expects one of them to make you an offer!’ The silence that greeted this statement was profound, broken only by the steady tick of the pretty little carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Lady Broxted’s restless fingers smoothed over the covers. ‘Your uncle is very anxious for you to make a good match,
Carlotta. He is confident that you can do so. Lady Fairbridge has hinted that she looks favourably upon you as a bride for her son, and Mr Woollatt’s standing up with you for a second time last night was most encouraging. When your uncle learned who was going to be at Malberry, he thought it could not be better; we have always said that if you should receive an offer, then your suitor must be told of your true circumstances. What better place to explain everything, with your parents so conveniently situated? And now you tell me that you were running all over the house, dressed as a…’

‘I am very sorry, Aunt.’ Carlotta sighed miserably.

‘Well, we must make the best of it.’ Lady Broxted threw back the bedcovers. ‘Ring for my maid, my love. I will go and see Broxted and explain the whole.’

‘Will he be very angry with me, do you think?’

‘Perhaps, but we must see what is to be done. If he thinks we can still carry it off, then so be it.’

‘Aunt!’

Lady Broxted regarded her, a question in her eyes. Carlotta knew it was time to tell Lady Broxted of her meetings with Lord Darvell, but even her brave spirit quailed at the thought of confessing so much. Perhaps he would not betray her. Perhaps she could persuade him not to betray her.

‘Well, my dear?’

Carlotta’s courage failed her, she shook her head. ‘Nothing, Aunt.’

Later that day Carlotta was summoned to Lord Broxted’s study. She went in cautiously, and found her aunt and uncle waiting for her. Lord Broxted’s frown eased
a little when he saw how anxious she looked and he gestured to her to sit down.

‘Your aunt has told me of your conversation this morning,’ he said in his ponderous way. ‘I admit that I had some concerns when Ainslowe first issued the invitation, but we have already agreed that although one cannot like the circumstances of your parents’ marriage—’ Carlotta opened her mouth to protest, but he put up his hand to silence her. ‘Pray let me continue. Your mother’s running off to marry an Italian artist cannot be viewed as anything other than regrettable, but there it is: if the truth should out then we will deal with it. Besides, as your aunt has told you, if a suitable gentleman should make you an offer of marriage, then he must be told. Your announcement that you were—ah—more actively employed at Malberry Court than we first realised has been a shock, I confess, but the advantages of our visit far outweigh the slight risk of your being recognised.’

‘Oh. I have no wish to embarrass you, Uncle. Would it not be better to go somewhere else this summer—Brighton, perhaps?’ asked Carlotta, hopefully.

A look of distaste flickered over his face. ‘I have never been one of the Prince’s set and would prefer that you were not brought to their attention. No, we shall go to Malberry. Your aunt mentioned that the clerk of works had seen you at the Court. I know from Ainslowe himself that he has sent the man off to oversee the building of his hunting lodge in Leicestershire. It is therefore highly unlikely that he will return during our visit. It is my hope that by the end of our stay at Malberry Court, it will be unnecessary for us to worry further over your origins.’

‘You mean, sir, that I should accept an offer of marriage if I receive one.’

‘But of course you should!’ Lady Broxted looked at her in surprise. ‘After all, that is the reason we took you under our wing, is it not?’

‘Yes,’ said Carlotta, stifling a sigh. ‘I suppose it is.’

‘I do not wish to pain you, Carlotta, but you have very little choice,’ her uncle pointed out. ‘What does the future hold for you, if you do not marry? Perhaps you have some idea of making your living as an artist, but you must know how precarious that would be, and you must not be thinking that I should feel obliged to give you a pension,’ he said, his face hardening. ‘I am afraid I could not bring myself to condone your choice of a lifestyle that could only bring more disgrace upon our family.’

‘So you consider Mama
disgraced
herself when she married an artist,’ said Carlotta, angry colour warming her cheeks.

‘No, of course he does not,’ put in Lady Broxted quickly. ‘I am sure—’

The earl raised his hand. ‘Please, madam, I think it is time my niece realised her situation. When we offered you a home, Carlotta, it was in an effort to reinstate a branch of the family. It has never been my intention to allow you to follow in your mother’s footsteps.’

Carlotta choked down the angry retort that rose to her lips. She had always known the whole point of bringing her to town was to find her a suitable husband—her aunt had never made a secret of the fact. How could she now say it was not what she wanted?