A Compromised Lady (28 page)

But it was no longer home, much as he loved the place and always would. He had known that for some time. His brain had known it from the day Max announced his imminent marriage to Verity.

His heart had known it from the moment he had realised the reality of his brother’s marriage.

This house might hold his past. Another must hold his future. Everything was in readiness over at Tarring House.

Not that Verity or Max had shown the least eagerness for him to leave. On the contrary—they were delighted for him to remain. Verity especially had been upset, worried that he might have thought she wanted him gone.

He smiled, remembering her worry.

Verity, you goose! I need my own place. This is what I should have done years before the gudgeon met you.

That had been the truth. Max had seemed to see it. Only Max-like, he had decided it was all his fault.

I suppose I have been selfish keeping you here so long.

He hadn’t called Max a goose. It had been a good bit more direct than that.

Max came back into the room. He had been upstairs with Verity, seeing little William Richard safely into his crib.

‘All tucked up?’ asked Richard gravely. Lord! Who would ever have thought to see Max such a doting father! As for the sudden ache in his stomach, and pricking behind his eyes, when Verity had placed his godson in his arms this evening—well, he just wasn’t going to think about that.

Thank God Max hadn’t seen.

‘Oh, shut up, Ricky,’ said Max without the least rancour. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice how dewy-eyed you were over your godson when Verity gave him to you!’

‘Dewy-eyed?’ Richard protested. ‘Damn it! You make me sound like some feather-brained débutante!’ Good God, had it been that obvious?

His twin chuckled and said, ‘Speaking of which, are you betrothed or are you not?’

‘Thea Winslow,’ said Richard, with a tolerable assumption of diffidence, ‘is not a feather-brained débutante.’

Strolling over to a side table, Max said, ‘Drink?’ And proceeded to pour two very large brandies without waiting for a response.

He gave one to Richard and continued, ‘I’d be surprised if she was. I seem to recall that by the age of ten she could give you a damn good game of chess.’

Richard smiled. ‘That hasn’t changed.’ He sipped the brandy. ‘This is good. The “Gentlemen”, one assumes?’

Max gave a wry grimace at this reference to the local smuggling gang, as he lowered his large frame into a chair across from Richard. ‘Who else? They keep on leaving the curst stuff right behind the stables, despite any number of messages I’ve sent that it really isn’t necessary. They must know by now that no self-respecting Blakehurst would inform on them. The other day they left scent and a length of lace too!’

Richard grinned and raised his tumbler. ‘To tradition!’

Max snorted. ‘I understand that there’s a barrel or two awaiting your arrival at Tarring House, by the way.’

Richard burst out laughing. ‘Is there, indeed?’

‘Apparently so. And no doubt if you play your cards properly the lace and scent will follow in due course. Now stop changing the subject, and tell me about this betrothal of yours.’

Richard sighed. ‘It’s not exactly a betrothal. If you must know, it’s hell’s own mess.’

Max’s black brows rose and the amber eyes glinted with amusement. ‘So I gathered from the somewhat incoherent letter I received from Almeria telling me that she would be delighted to come to Will’s christening, that she had a houseguest—to wit, Dorothea Winslow—and it would be most unfortunate if we all missed such a splendid opportunity to secure your lasting happiness, and, er—

dare I say it?’

‘Fortune?’ suggested Richard.

‘In a word. I was all for telling Almeria to go to the devil at that point, but since I’d already told you Miss Winslow would be welcome…’He shot Richard an amused look. ‘I received the impression from Almeria’s letter that Miss Winslow was positively yearning to see the beauties of Blakeney.’ He shook his head. ‘However it came about, I’m relieved that Almeria is putting aside her disapproval to come.’

‘That, twin, is one of the reasons Thea is coming to visit,’ said Richard and explained what Thea had done.

When Max had stopped laughing, or at least had subsided to an unholy grin, and occasional chuckles, Richard went on, ‘Not being perfectly au fait with the extent of Almeria’s obsession with seeing me married to the largest available fortune—’ he waited patiently while Max regained some semblance of self-control ‘—she didn’t realise that our mutual godmother would consider the whole thing as settled,’ he finished ruefully.

‘Either of you could have denied it,’ Max pointed out, swirling the brandy around his glass and inhaling beatifically.

‘No,’ said Richard shortly. ‘At least, I couldn’t. Not at that point. And I persuaded Thea not to.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ said Max. He ventured nothing further. Julian Braybrook’s last letter had given him the gist of the massive scandal that hovered over Thea and David Winslow. He was sure there was more to it than Winslow’s arrest and subsequent release, but hesitated to probe as to the reason why Winslow had ended up in a duel with Lallerton. Richard would tell him in his own good time if he could.

And there was that earlier letter from Julian…

Of course, without you in town to distract her, Lady Arnsworth is interfering in Ricky’s non-existent matrimonial plans—flinging heiresses at him hither and yon. But oddly enough, this time she seems to have got it exactly right. For all the wrong reasons, one might add. Fifty thousand of them, in fact. In the face of which, one can only pray that the almost terminal stubbornness of the Blakehursts will not blind the gudgeon to what is as plain as day to the rest of us…

Leaving aside that quite unwarranted jibe about the infamous Blakehurst stubbornness, apparently Braybrook thought Miss Winslow had something to offer Ricky beyond her fortune. And observing Ricky’s abstraction since his arrival that afternoon, Max had a sneaking suspicion that Julian could be right.

Never before had he seen Ricky so silent, or so preoccupied. At least, he had, of course, but only over his books. Never about a woman. And on the occasions when Richard had struck up a liaison with a woman, never had his emotions been engaged.

If indeed they were now. Verity said Richard was in love. Max did not pretend to know how she divined that from the simple fact that while letters from half their acquaintance had mentioned Ricky’s interest in Miss Winslow, Ricky himself had not so much as mentioned her once in any of his letters. But Verity was sure. And Max was inclined to agree.

One thing in particular convinced him: never in all their lives had Richard been loath to offer a confidence to his twin. He stretched out his legs, sipped his brandy and silently wished the half-remembered Miss Winslow luck. He looked forward to renewing his acquaintance with her on the morrow. They would all arrive then. Almeria was coming post with Miss Winslow, and Julian was driving himself down. The christening was set for the following week.

He wondered if it would be tactful to thank Miss Winslow for her efforts. Without the lure of marrying Ricky off, he suspected that either Almeria wouldn’t have come at all, or her visit would have been of the most fleeting. As it was, she planned to remain for at least a week. He laughed suddenly.

Ricky’s gaze narrowed over his brandy. ‘Yes?’

‘Nothing. I was just thinking—it’s not surprising that Miss Winslow can still give you a good game of chess, if she manoeuvred Almeria that neatly.’

Not entirely to Max’s surprise, his twin let that one pass.

Thea stepped out of the chaise the following afternoon, smiled her thanks at the footman who had let down the step, and heaved a sigh of relief. Not just for the physical relief of being able to stretch her legs, which were tired and cramped from the journey, but for the mental relief of no longer having to sit in the same space as Almeria.

Listening to her godmother casually enumerate all the best silk mercers and warehouses for brideclothes had imposed enough of a strain on her self-control. The musings on whether or not Princess Charlotte’s example, some seven years earlier, of silver brocade must be considered a trifle outmoded, had tried her even higher.

She had acidly pointed out that Her Royal Highness’s death in childbed the following year was not a good omen.

Very true, my dear. Not a lucky bride at all.

But the monologue between Canterbury and Blakeney on the advantages of being married in the cathedral, as opposed to St George’s Hanover Square, interspersed with reflections upon the advisability of employing a wet-nurse, had nearly broken her restraint. Never mind counting chickens before the eggs were hatched, Almeria Arnsworth hadn’t even managed to get the rooster into the hen-run.

Almeria stepped out behind her, leaning heavily upon the hapless footman.

‘Really! One would think that Max would at least—oh.’

She broke off at the sight of her nephew coming out of the front door.

Thea blinked. She had forgotten how alike the Blakehurst twins were. Not identical by any means, but the resemblance was still a shock.

Earl Blakehurst came down the steps with a lithe grace, a delighted smile on his face.

‘Here you are, then. I’ve just given orders for tea to be served in the library.’ He took Almeria’s hands and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘We’re delighted you could come, Almeria. Verity will be down in a moment, I am sure. She was having a rest, but insisted I send a maid to awaken her as soon as you arrived.’

Under Thea’s fascinated eye, Almeria thawed visibly. ‘Well, I’m sure I would not wish to be disturbing her rest.’

Blakehurst chuckled. ‘If you don’t, I can assure you that our son will do it anyway! Come along in.’

He turned to Thea. ‘Miss Winslow. I’m delighted to renew our acquaintance. Welcome to Blakeney.’

‘Thank you, my lord. It looks beautiful.’

It did. The house, a rambling Tudor mansion standing in extensive flower gardens, seemed to have sprung out of the landscape.

His smile reminded her of Richard’s. ‘Thank you, Miss Winslow. Please come in. Ricky is about somewhere and Braybrook arrived a couple of hours ago. I trust you have been enjoying your Season.’

Almeria said primly, ‘It is very good of you to invite us, Blakehurst. While I continue to deplore the notoriety that accompanied your marriage last year, one can only be grateful to Verity that marriage has curbed some of your more obnoxious habits.’

Thea didn’t know where to look. She knew exactly what Almeria meant by obnoxious habits, but it was not at all the sort of knowledge she was meant to betray. On the whole she thought an expression of blank uninterest might be best.

Blakehurst ruined that.

‘Oh? Which habits would they be, Almeria?’

Thea stifled a choke of laughter and Almeria favoured Lord Blakehurst with a quelling glare. ‘You know perfectly well to which habits I refer, Max!’

‘Ah! Those habits,’ said his lordship urbanely. Gesturing for Almeria to precede him, he offered Thea his arm. ‘Come and meet Lady Blakehurst, Miss Winslow. She has been looking forward to your visit very much.’

Thea’s assumption that the countess’s eagerness to meet her was a polite fabrication on the part of Lord Blakehurst died in the face of Lady Blakehurst’s very genuine delight and pleasure when she came into the library to find Almeria and Thea already fortifying themselves with cups of tea.

The countess was utterly lovely, thought Thea, with her dark hair and deep grey eyes. Small and slender, she still looked rather pale and Lord Blakehurst leapt to his feet, hurrying over to hand her to a chair.

‘You slept well?’ he asked, before she could say a word.

An ache spread through Thea at the concerned tenderness in his voice, the fleeting caress of his fingers on his wife’s hand as he led her to a chair. This was how it should be.

‘Yes, thank you, Max,’ said the countess. ‘Good afternoon, Aunt Almeria. How nice to see you here again.’ Her voice was lovely too. Husky and musical. Finding Lord Blakehurst putting her into a chair, she ventured a protest. ‘But I should be greeting our guests properly, not languishing in a chair!’ She made to get up, but was firmly held back by her husband.

‘You may greet them from there,’ he said. ‘You know perfectly well I think you ought still to be in bed! Verity, this is Almeria’s goddaughter, Miss Winslow. Miss Winslow, this is my wife, Lady Blakehurst.’

‘He’s a tyrant, you know,’ said Lady Blakehurst with a perfectly straight face. ‘I was never so glad of anything when Richard went up to town because he was almost as bad! I have never been so fussed over or cosseted in my life! How do you do, Miss Winslow? I am so happy to meet you.’

Thea curtsied. ‘Thank you, Lady Blakehurst. I am honoured.’

‘Blakehurst,’ opined Almeria, ‘shows a very proper concern and regard for your health, Verity. I congratulate you on the birth of The Heir.’

Lord Blakehurst smiled. ‘A secondary concern from my point of view, I assure you, Almeria.

Speaking for myself, I was delighted with the birth of my child.’

‘A sentiment which does you great credit, Max,’ allowed Almeria. ‘But naturally you must have been relieved that it was a son.’

Another voice broke in from the open doors onto the terrace. ‘Actually, I don’t think he was, Almeria.’

Richard strolled in with Lord Braybrook. ‘Judging by the letter he sent me, anyway. All the first three paragraphs said was that a baby had been born and that Verity was perfectly all right. The baby’s sex was almost an afterthought!’

To Thea’s delight, Blakehurst reddened. ‘Oh, go to the devil, Ricky! Wait until your turn and see how you like it.’

Lord Braybrook chuckled. ‘Ignore them, Miss Winslow. Sometimes they are worse than this.

Servant, Lady Arnsworth. Miss Winslow. I trust you had a comfortable journey down?’

‘Most comfortable, thank you, Lord Braybrook,’ said Almeria. ‘And when, Verity, may we see—

William, is it not?’

Lady Blakehurst smiled. ‘Very soon, Aunt. He woke up about half an hour ago. I fed him and Nurse said she would change him and bring him down.’