An Unlikely Alliance (19 page)

“Good! Then you have decided to stay on as my companion?”

After her initial coolness towards Magda, Lady Stanthorpe had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the scheme to bring Magda into society. But Magda had never expected that Lady Stanthorpe would grow fond of her, to the point where she had invited Magda to stay on as her companion.

“No, you are most generous, but I cannot accept.” It would be too hard, living here as a paid companion, knowing that Alexander was a friend of the family and liable to be a frequent caller. Hard as it was to think of not seeing him again, it would be even harder to be tormented by glimpses of what she could not have. “I think it best if I return to my friends and seek my employment elsewhere, milady.”

“You know I am quite fond of you, but if you are certain?” Lady Stanthorpe asked.

Magda nodded.

“Well then, there is no need for a hasty decision. You are welcome to stay here as long as you wish. And I will write my acquaintances to see if they know of a suitable situation. If we put our heads together I know we can find something to your liking. Something out of London, if that is what you truly want,” Lady Stanthorpe said, laying her hand on Magda’s shoulder in consolation.

For such a seemingly silly woman, she could be downright perceptive, Magda thought. “Thank you, that would be very kind,” she said, blinking back tears that sprang from nowhere. In truth, she had no fixed plans and no idea how she would earn her living, or whether she even had the heart to go back to being a seamstress, sewing from dawn till after dark for wages that scarce kept her alive.

“There, there,” Lady Stanthorpe said in her best mothering voice. “It will all come right, just you wait and see.”

“Of course,” Magda agreed, but she knew it was a lie. Her life would never be the same as it had been before. She had found her love and lost him, and now she would have to spend the rest of her days trying to forget him.

“And you are certain of this?” Alexander asked.

“As certain as I can be, given that the principals are either dead or no longer here in England,” Mr. William Archer replied. The two men were speaking in Alexander’s study. Earlier in the morning Archer had sent a note to Alexander, saying that he had uncovered some information that Lord Kerrigan might find of interest.

Alexander had agreed to this meeting, assuming that it had something to do with Le Duc d’Aiguillon’s recent suicide, the Frenchman having evidently preferred to take his own life rather than submit to an English court. But instead, the news Mr. Archer brought was of a far different nature.

“Of course the only way to verify the tale would be to arrange a meeting with Count Grazinsky. Travel to Russia is difficult, given the situation on the Continent. But such a journey is not impossible,” Mr. Archer continued. “And there is every reason to believe that Mademoiselle Beaumont would be well received.”

Alexander controlled his expression, careful not to display the doubts that he felt. “It is too soon to be talking of journeys. First I must inform Mademoiselle Beaumont of your discoveries. Then she can decide what she wishes to do about them.”

He had no intention of letting her leave him and go off on some fool’s errand. Who knew what dangers she might encounter along the way, or what kind of reception she would receive when she arrived? For all he knew, this Count Grazinsky could be dead or feeble-minded with age, and in no condition to recognize his long-lost granddaughter.

“The Foreign Office would be happy to arrange an escort. Or a confidential courier, to carry news of Mademoiselle Beaumont’s presence here in London,” Mr. Archer added.

“I will be certain to tell Mademoiselle Beaumont of your kind offer. She will no doubt wish to speak to you herself at some point, once she has given this matter some consideration.”

Mr. Archer took the implied dismissal with grace. “Very well. I must take my leave, and I know you will need some time to consider how best to break the news,” he said, rising from the chair. “Please tell Mademoiselle Beaumont that I am at her service.”

Alexander rose as well and extended his hand. “My thanks again for all you have done,” he said. “You have been of great service to me, and if there is ever anything I can do to repay you—”

“Always happy to oblige, my lord,” Archer said, grasping Alexander’s hand in a firm grip.

Alexander escorted his guest to the front hall and bade him farewell. He lingered in the hall, still trying to come to grips with these new revelations. From the moment Mr. Archer had begun his fantastic story, Alexander had known that this would change everything, although whether the change was for better or worse he could not say. A small part of him wanted to delay telling Magda till he had a chance to think through these changes from every angle. But a larger part of him knew that she deserved to hear the truth without delay.

“I am going out,” Alexander said to the footman who stood patiently waiting by the front door, holding his employer’s hat and cloak. “Send a message to the offices to let Master Luke know that I am canceling my appointments for this afternoon. If anything arises he is to deal with it.”

“Yes, milord,” the footman said, helping Alexander shrug on his coat.

He decided to walk the short distance to the Stanthorpes’, hoping the fresh air would clear his thoughts. But his thoughts remained a muddle, his satisfaction at the capture of d’Aiguillon mixing with an uneasy feeling that the affair was far from over. His eagerness to share the news from Archer was overlaid by a sense of apprehension that this news would create even more distance between himself and Magda.

After arriving in the drawing room, he found Lady Stanthorpe and Magda seated together at the desk, their heads bent over some correspondence. Seeing Magda brought the sense of pleasure that he always had in her presence, mixed with a faint irritation as he remembered that she was still insisting on going her own way.

“Lady Stanthorpe, as always a pleasure,” he said. “Magda, I came to see if you had come to your senses and decided to accept my offer.” Even as he said the words he knew they were the wrong thing to say.

“Come to my senses? It is you, my lord, who appears to be the one with an addled mind,” Magda retorted.

Lady Stanthorpe glanced from one to the other, then rose from her seat. “I think this conversation would best be conducted in private. Lord Kerrigan, I trust you will behave as a gentleman,” she said, pausing by his side. She turned her cheek for a kiss and as he bent down she whispered in his ear, “For heaven’s sake, don’t badger the girl or you will never get anywhere. I’m counting on you to do the right thing.”

“I will do my best,” he replied, surprised by this unexpected endorsement of his suit. As Lady Stanthorpe exited he shut the door firmly behind her, and then leaned against it.

“Well? If you think I have changed my mind, then you are wasting your time,” Magda said. She rose and crossed her arms firmly over her chest, the picture of stubbornness.

“Is there anything I could say that would convince you to marry me?” he found himself asking. This was not what he had come here to say, but he needed to ask the question anyway. He had intended to give her more time for reflection, but events had tipped his hand. Without a commitment, there was nothing to prevent her from going off to Russia on her own and leaving him behind.

“No,” she said softly, her eyes appearing huge and dark as they rose to meet his. “We both know this match can not, should never, be.”

“Even if Lady Stanthorpe thinks otherwise?” He felt a twinge of shame as he wondered what Lady Stanthorpe would think if she realized his original offer to Magda had been far less than honorable.

“Lady Stanthorpe dotes on you. She would agree to anything you said, no matter how foolish,” Magda said crossly. “If you have finished what you came to say—”

“Actually, there is something else I came to tell you,” he said.

Magda held up her hand for silence. “Le Duc d’Aiguillon killed himself in his cell yesterday evening. Yes, yes, we had your note, and it was in the papers this morning. I noticed that the papers said nothing of my mother, merely that he was suspected of murdering his nephew and of arranging for his brother’s death.”

He had called in many favors to ensure that the published accounts made no mention of Magda or of her murdered mother. Better by far that those matters be allowed to rest rather than to make her a further topic for gossip and speculation.

“It is unfortunate that he died before he could be questioned. My instincts tell me that this is not over yet.”

“Your instincts tell you nothing,” she said. “You merely wish for an excuse to keep me here, to keep me dependent on you.”

Her accusation stung. True, he had nothing to go on but his own suspicions, but he was not so base that he would exaggerate the danger merely to frighten her. The danger was real. He could feel it. There were still too many pieces of the puzzle that did not add up. D’Aiguillon had been implicated in the attempted poisoning, but not in the botched kidnapping that had led to Magda’s terrified flight.

And d’Aiguillon had played one last card, for with his suicide it was possible that they would never discover the full truth of his crimes. Alexander knew now that it had been a mistake to hand d’Aiguillon over to the authorities so quickly. He should have questioned the Frenchman himself until he was satisfied that d’Aiguillon had confessed to the full extent of his crimes.

Now it was too late. And how could he convince Magda that she was in danger when even his closest associates were convinced that he was starting at shadows?

“You saved my life,” she said. “But now it is time to let me live that life.”

“And if there is someone out there who still wishes to harm you?”

“So be it,” she said. “I can not live the rest of my life fearing shadows.”

He admired her courage, foolhardy though it was. He could only hope that his instincts were wrong.

“Can we not cry peace? I wish that we could part as friends,” she said.

There was no reason why they should part at all. It was only her stubbornness that prevented her from seeing that he knew what was best.

“Actually, I did not come here to argue with you,” he said, moving away from the door and taking a seat next to the fireplace. “Come, sit. I have a story to tell that I know you will want to hear.”

“I am not in the mood for stories,” she said, but she left the desk and sat carefully on the sofa opposite his chair.

He hesitated, wondering where to begin. “I heard today from an old friend who works in the Foreign Office,” he said finally. “I had asked him to look into your mother’s death and he came back with a fantastic story.”

Magda’s expression frozen, becoming a blank mask with no trace of emotion. “Indeed,” was all she said.

“It seems back in 1798, a woman approached the Russian Embassy. She had just escaped from France and arrived in England. She claimed to be the daughter of a Count Grazinsky, a powerful and wealthy member of the Russian Court. Everyone knew that the Count’s daughter had married a French nobleman, but it had been widely reported that she and her husband had been killed by revolutionaries several years before.”

Her face was so still it could have been carved from stone. There was not a sound to be heard in the room, save the crackling of the fire. “A junior official of the embassy finally met with this woman, but she could offer no proof of her claim and there was no one in England who could confirm her identity. So in the end she wrote to her supposed father in Russia.”

“And then?”

He stared down at his feet, finding it easier to stare at the tassels on his boots than to meet her eyes. “There was no response. But with the war on, there was every chance the letter had gone astray. So after waiting several months she sent another, and then another.” This part was conjecture, but it seemed to fit the facts they had uncovered.

“But there was no answer, for the Count had never heard of her,” she said bitterly.

“On the contrary. Unfortunately, it seems that Countess Grazinsky was mortally ill and the Grazinskys had returned to their estates in the country. It was some time before your mother’s letters reached Count Grazinsky. As soon as he read them, he dispatched a courier to bring you both back with all haste. But the courier reached London only to find your mother dead and you were reported to have immigrated to Canada on a ship that was lost at sea.”

He looked up at her face, but it gave no clue to what she was feeling inside. “My mother always said that her family would come for us,” she said slowly.

“They cared for you very much. Your grandfather moved heaven and earth trying to find you. He was furious at the ill treatment your mother had received. There was quite a furor at the Russian Embassy, and several officials found themselves removed from their posts in disgrace.”

Alexander knew nothing of the Count, yet he had no trouble picturing the old man’s terrible grief and wrath when he realized that his help had come too late.

Magda was still not convinced. “Can this really be true? It sounds too pat, like the stories you told to explain my presence at Lady Stanthorpe’s.”

He didn’t blame her for being skeptical. It was such a fantastic tale that he, too, had difficulty believing it at first. “I know it sounds hard to believe, but I have seen the correspondence with my own eyes. The Foreign Office is willing to back your claim and sent word that they wish to assist in any way they can.”

“But after so much time?”

“Your grandfather, Count Grazinsky, was still alive at last report. You have an uncle and cousins in Russia. Not that you need to go there,” he hastened to add. “But I am certain they will be happy to hear from you.”

“To think all that time I thought she had lied to me,” Magda said with a brittle laugh. “I even hated her for giving me such false hopes.”

He could see that she was hurting, so he sat down next to her on the sofa, placing his right arm around her shoulder, trying to comfort her as best he could. “You couldn’t have known,” he said.

“But I should have trusted her. She was my mother,” she insisted. She turned her body, slipping out from under his arm. “Now this changes everything. No wonder you were so anxious to marry me.”