An Unsuitable Bride (11 page)
Lady Maude crossed the hall with the firm step of one intent on a particular goal. She had seen her husband leave the library, which meant that Mistress Hathaway was now alone. There was something about the librarian that irritated Maude, but Stephen couldn’t see it for some reason. There was something sly about her, and Maude sometimes felt as if the woman looked down on her. Which, of course, was ridiculous. She was merely a servant, an educated upper servant, certainly, in the same league as the governess, but despite her nambypamby ways, the downcast eyes, and barely whispered responses, something didn’t sit right in Maude’s opinion. She was too clever. Of course, it was that cleverness
that made Stephen so blind. He couldn’t see anything wrong with the woman, couldn’t catch that flash in her eye sometimes, the derisive twitch of her lips, or the strength in her voice when she laid down a winning card. As long as she continued to direct his investments into paths of greater riches, he would never see any of that or listen to his wife when she tried to point it out.
She opened the library door quietly. Mistress Hathaway was sitting at the desk, her head resting on her hands, which were otherwise idle. Maude smiled. “Ah, I’m glad to see you’re unemployed, Mistress Hathaway. I had thought you must have some free time—you spend so many hours alone in here.” She gestured slightly contemptuously to the bookshelves. “Anyway, I have some other employment for you, to fill your spare hours.”
Alexandra raised her head abruptly, her heart beating fast, as if she really had been startled out of sleep. She regarded the lady of the house with mingled astonishment and trepidation. Maude remained an unknown, but Alex sensed her malevolence and hadn’t yet discovered a way to neutralize it. She contented herself with a quiet “Indeed, ma’am?” and a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, I need you to tutor Master George,” the lady declared. “He will be going to Eton next year, and he needs to brush up his arithmetic and Latin. I understand from my husband that you are proficient in both, so you’ll be pleased to assist Master George with his preparations.”
“I am not a governess, ma’am,” Alex protested, keeping her tone soft but failing to quell the spark of outrage
in her gray eyes. “Your husband employs me as his financial advisor and librarian. I have little time for anything else, I assure you.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Maude declared, waving her fan. “When I came in here, you were dozing at the table. If you have time to sleep in the afternoon, Mistress Hathaway, you have time to tutor my son.”
Alex’s jaw dropped at this outrageous statement. “Forgive me, ma’am, but I was
not
asleep. Sir Stephen has just left me after an intensive session with his financial affairs. I was merely preparing myself to return to the cataloguing of the books.”
“Well, that’s as may be. I still wish you to take on this additional task. You will find Master George an excellent and attentive pupil. He will await you in the schoolroom after breakfast tomorrow.”
Alexandra stared at the woman, for the moment lost for words. Lady Maude’s gown of pale yellow silk opened over an underskirt of tangerine damask and did little for her sallow complexion, despite the thickly caked powder that covered her freckles. The color of the underskirt clashed rather horribly with her hair, Alex thought with an almost vicious satisfaction. How anyone could have so little sense of what suited her, she couldn’t imagine. Maude was a very plain woman, but her pinched lips and little green eyes also gave her an air of spite, the look of a deeply disappointed woman. Life had not given Maude what she considered her due, which at this point gave Alexandra a degree of pleasure.
“I would need to discuss this with Sir Stephen, ma’am. I believe he is my sole employer,” she said.
Maude’s nostrils flared at her tone, at the look of disdain in the clear gray gaze. She snapped, “There will be no need for you to do so. I will inform my husband of the new arrangement,” and exited the library in a rustle of yellow and orange.
Alexandra wanted to leap to her feet and fly after Maude, hurling her indignant fury in her miserable face. But she couldn’t do that, in fact had probably done more than enough damage already. That unpleasant exchange would have repercussions, she had no doubt. But she’d have to face them when they materialized. She looked at the papers in front of her with a twinge of distaste. They seemed to have lost their appeal for the moment.
She put them aside and drew a fresh sheet of vellum in front of her. Composing her weekly missive to Sylvia could never lose its appeal. It had been a more interesting week than usual, she reflected. It would amuse her sister to read side-by-side descriptions of their stepmother and the woman who had supplanted her at the Abbey. Two such very different women, one whom both Alex and her sister could like, the other whom Sylvia would detest as heartily as did Alex.
And then there was the arrival of Peregrine Sullivan. Would Sylvia be interested in that? No particular reason she should be, Alex thought. He was no different from any of the other visitors to Combe Abbey. Or at least, no different from any of the younger visitors
from London. Of course, he was a friend of their stepbrother, and Alex liked Marcus and knew that Sylvia would, too. That was good enough reason to include his arrival in the week’s events at Combe Abbey.
Alex stroked the feather tip of her quill, staring down at the blank sheet. How to describe the Honorable Peregrine? Fair-haired, striking blue eyes, tall. Understated clothes, but he wore them well. Nothing flamboyant about him, just an air of natural, unobtrusive elegance, a sense that he was totally comfortable in his skin, never likely to second-guess himself. And most important, he had an educated mind. He enjoyed intellectual pursuits, which did set him apart from the usual run of visitors to Combe Abbey.
She dipped the quill into the inkwell, took it out, and shook surplus ink from the point. Should she tell Sylvia of the uncomfortable curiosity Peregrine seemed to have about herself? Should she mention the sharpness of those blue eyes, the ready glint of amusement, the strange and disturbing feeling she had sometimes that he was seeing more than he should? And the even stranger and more disturbing feeling that she, Alexandra Douglas, wanted to spend time in his company, meet him on equal terms, be her true self when she was with him?
But she couldn’t tell Sylvia that. Not in a letter—it was far too complex to describe. She didn’t understand it herself. Why did she have this urge to risk everything by engaging in some verbal sparring that was quite out of character for Alexandra Hathaway and quite
in
character
for Alexandra Douglas? What was it about Peregrine Sullivan that brought out the devil in her, the spark of mischief that she had worked so hard to quell? And now,
here,
where it was so dangerous. If he asked questions, pushed for further information, he could ruin her . . . ruin Sylvia. She’d end up in prison, and Sylvia would starve.
It didn’t bear thinking of. From now on, she must have no private conversations with the Honorable Peregrine. If he was in a room, she must leave it. She mustn’t even look at him, since that seemed to start the damage, and once they began to talk, it just got worse, her resistance fading inexorably.
Alex drummed her fingers on the desk. She had always been truthful with Sylvia. Her sister found it difficult to be helpless, unable to be a concrete support while Alex took all the risks. If Alex so much as hinted at a difficulty, she would worry herself into a shadow. Somehow she must choose her words carefully, giving nothing away. Amusing descriptions of Maude and Eliza would be well and good, along with an account of her latest financial triumph and maybe a brief mention of Marcus and his friend. That would be sufficient. Nothing at all about how attractive she found the Honorable Peregrine Sullivan.
Nothing at all.
It took her an hour before she was satisfied that she had struck the right note for her sister, sufficiently informative while revealing none of her own confusion. She sanded the sheets, folded and sealed them, and took them with her to her own chamber to dress for dinner.
On her way, she passed Lady Maude’s boudoir. Raised voices came from behind the door, and she paused, unable to help herself. In another life, she would consider eavesdropping a dishonorable activity, she reflected with a sardonic smile, but in her present circumstances, it was an essential tool. And most particularly when, as on this occasion, she heard her own name.
“Georgie needs help, Sir Stephen. He struggles so with his lessons, and he will never manage at school without more preparation.”
“The boy struggles because he won’t concentrate,” Sir Stephen stated, his tone dismissive. “He’s lazy and distracted, and that tutor has no control over him at all. You coddle him, ma’am, always have done. The slightest sniffle, and you send for the damn leach. If he doesn’t want to do his lessons, you find excuses for him. ’Tis no wonder he can barely read, let alone construe Latin or add up two and two to make four.”
“You are too harsh, sir. The poor child has always suffered from ill health, and he needs a little more help. Mistress Hathaway has time on her hands. I found her sleeping in the library this afternoon instead of at her work. She’s overpaid, and she can certainly devote some time to Georgie.”
“Sleeping?” Sir Stephen exclaimed, his voice rising. “I’ll have you know, ma’am, that Mistress Hathaway and I had a most fruitful session with my business affairs this afternoon, and if you think the lady is overpaid, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Her
financial acumen is worth a lot more to me, indeed, to both of us, than any suitability she might have as a governess. I’ll not hear another word. You leave well alone, Lady Douglas. Mistress Hathaway works for me.”
Alexandra whisked herself away and around a corner of the corridor as Lady Maude’s door opened, and Sir Stephen, rather red-faced, emerged from his wife’s room. In the safety of her own chamber, Alex stood for a moment in frowning thought. Maude already resented Alexandra’s presence in the household, and matters would not be improved if she fell out with her husband over the librarian. Maybe Maude resented the time Stephen spent with her, Alex thought, but she’d seen no indication that the lady pined for her husband’s company in the usual course of the day. Was there something about herself that put Maude’s back up?
Whatever it was, Stephen’s castigation would only make it worse. If Maude was obliged to acknowledge defeat in matters concerning the librarian, her natural vindictiveness would be given free rein.
Still, she reflected, drawing an evening gown out of the armoire, at least she wouldn’t have to deal with Master George. Alex liked children in general, but Stephen’s son and heir was a whining brat, hopelessly spoiled and indulged by his mother. Any attempt to teach him would fall on stony ground, and the governess would get the blame. It would put her in a worse position vis-à-vis Maude than Stephen’s intervention.
She held up the gown and wrinkled her nose. The
dove-gray taffeta was barely an improvement on the dull brown twill she was wearing at the moment. She had a fleeting memory of her mother, who always looked wonderful, richly dressed and ornamented, her coiffure always perfect. For a moment, she could almost catch the fragrance that seemed to envelop the first Lady Douglas. Gardenia, she remembered, seeing in her mind’s eye the little vial on her mother’s dresser. What would Luisa think of her elder daughter now?
And where was she, anyway? Presumably still in the land of the living, Alexandra thought, stepping into the dove-gray taffeta. Surely she and Sylvia would have heard of their mother’s demise. There might even be an inheritance of sorts. But that brought a cynical smile to her lips. Luisa never had two pennies to rub together. Her extravagance had been another cause of the fierce quarrels between her and Sir Arthur. And as far as Alex and Sylvia had been able to gather, Luisa’s romantic escapades had been just that, flights for romance and excitement rather than the wealth of a new suitor. Not that their mother had ever appeared short of a guinea, Alex reflected as she fastened her gown. Presumably, she and her lovers lived on credit.
Of course, it was possible that Luisa had occasionally sold herself for money to keep both herself and her current lover in funds. It should be a shocking idea, but Alex didn’t find it so. She and Sylvia had long given up expecting anything as dull as conventional morality from their mother.
Dressed, she made her way downstairs. Another long evening to be endured in mousy silence before she could attain the peace of her bedchamber for the precious hours of solitude the night gave her.
As she reached the bend in the stairs, she heard a voice from the hall below that brought her up short. No one had told her that the Honorable Peregrine was to be a dinner guest tonight. But then, of course, why should they?
Could she escape, plead illness and retreat to her chamber? Despite her earlier resolution to avoid the man, she knew that such a move would merely postpone the inevitable. Peregrine and Marcus would be frequent guests at Combe Abbey while they were staying in the Dower House. If she didn’t confront the situation tonight, she would have to another night. Somehow she must learn to maintain her customary diffident reticence despite his provocations; she must ignore the conspiratorial gleam in the blue eyes, the inviting twitch of his full lips. She must pretend that he wasn’t telling her that he knew she was not what, or rather who, she seemed. And she must pretend that she didn’t find that assumption of inside knowledge immensely appealing. With Peregrine Sullivan, she couldn’t allow her guard to slip for an instant. But why did her own defenses against him seem so fragile?
She hesitated on the stair, waiting until the group gathered in the hall had entered the salon, so that she could slide into the room without drawing attention to herself.
