Bella and the Beast (3 page)

A charming smile lit up her countenance. Her eyes were a deep violet beneath arched black brows, and despite Bella's unease, she felt oddly mesmerized. She couldn't look away. Never in her life had she seen anyone so exquisitely beautiful.

“Bella! You're home early!”

Her brother's voice broke the spell. Bella blinked to see that Cyrus stood beside the desk, a quill in one hand and a penknife in the other. Heaven help her, she hadn't even noticed him. His sandy hair was mussed and his shoulders were hunched beneath his blousy shirt, for he hadn't yet come to terms with the spurt in his height that made him tower over his sisters. At times, his awkwardness could make him ill-tempered.

Today, however, he appeared more excited than sullen, and the anxiety constricting her heart eased somewhat. Was it possible that he and Lila hadn't landed themselves in trouble, after all?

Bella gave him an inquisitive look. “What is going on, my love?”

“Lady Milford was about to write you a note,” Cyrus said in a tumble of words. “I was sharpening her pen. She's come from London to call on us. Did you see her coach?” He glanced out the window, his boyish face aglow with excitement. “Isn't it splendid?”

“Quite.” Since the visitor didn't seem to pose an imminent danger, Bella's fingers fell away from the hidden dagger. Nevertheless, she felt a deep-seated suspicion of this stylish stranger. “I don't understand. Lady Milford, how do you know us? Why have you come here?”

The woman arose from the desk and glided forward in a rustle of silk. “I'll answer all of your questions in due course. In the meantime, I hope you'll pardon my intrusion. You must be Miss Isabella Jones.”

Bella frowned. No one ever used her christened name. Where had this lady heard it? “I prefer Bella,” she said stiffly.

Lady Milford inclined her head in a graceful nod. “As you wish. May I say, Miss Bella Jones, I'm delighted to meet you at last.”

The lady extended a slim hand in greeting. Bella surreptitiously scrubbed her fingers on her skirt before shaking that pristine, kid-gloved hand. She was keenly aware of the contrast between them, Lady Milford so perfectly groomed, and herself with untidy hair and a belted foreign robe that was soaked by the rain.

She lifted her chin. “What do you mean,
at last
?”

“I knew your father, Sir Seymour, quite a long time ago, before your family left England.” A somber look turned down the corners of Lady Milford's mouth. “Sir Cyrus has informed me that your father passed away some months ago. Pray accept my sincerest condolences.”

Bella inclined her head in wary acknowledgment of the woman's sympathy. How odd to hear her brother called Sir Cyrus. Yet he
had
inherited the baronetcy. The entire situation seemed very peculiar. What could her scholarly father have had in common with such a frivolous female? “How did you know Papa?”

“We were acquainted through a mutual friend—”

Before Lady Milford could expound on the connection, or explain her purpose in traveling to Oxford, they were joined by Bella's sister.

Carrying a large tea tray, Lila glided into the parlor. She was so much the image of a pretty English girl that Bella felt a swell of pride. Unlike Bella, Lila had a natural flair for fashion. She was quite clever with a needle and had altered her native robes into gowns that would not look out of place at Fothergill's Emporium. Today, she wore a dress of spangled sky-blue cotton that fit her slim waist to perfection. Her golden-brown hair was fastened with a blue ribbon that matched her eyes.

Beaming at their visitor, Lila said in a bubbly voice, “Do forgive me, my lady, the water took ever so long to heat.”

She set down the tray on the table by the fire; then her eyes widened on her older sister. “Oh, my goodness, Bella! You're sopping wet! Come, let's go upstairs at once and I'll help you change your gown.”

Bella reached up to smooth her damp brown hair. Half of her longed to tidy herself as a matter of vanity; the other half—her prideful half—resisted the notion of conforming to the standards of a noblewoman. A lingering resentment toward the snobs in the shop only made Bella want to dig in her heels all the more.

“I'll sit by the fire,” she said. “My garments will be dry in no time.”

“But you'll catch a chill,” Lila argued. “I'm sure her ladyship won't mind waiting for a few minutes. Cyrus can keep her company.”

“Be happy to do so,” their brother said, ambling closer to cast a ravenous look at the contents of the tea tray.

“No, my love, I'm fine,” Bella said firmly, giving her sister a warning look. She stepped to the best chair, the only one without moth holes in the embroidered seat, and motioned to their guest. “Lady Milford, pray sit down. Lila, if you'll be so kind as to pour the tea.”

The girl thrust out her lower lip in a pout. But she obediently took up the rose china teapot and began to fill the cups.

Lady Milford cast a pensive look at Lila before taking a seat and addressing Bella. “Thank you, Miss Jones. I daresay, you strike me as a very practical young woman. So long as you are comfortable, a little dampness won't matter.”

“I'm quite comfortable,” Bella affirmed, though the truth was, she did feel rather wet and chilled. She took a chair by the fire, arranging her skirt with its drenched hem to take full advantage of the heat. At least the brown fabric served to minimize any mud stains.

China clinked as Lila passed out the cups in saucers. Bella added a crumb of sugar and stirred the steaming tea with a spoon. Questions crowded her mind. Had Lady Milford come to call on Papa? It seemed she'd expected to find him here. But why would she think he was back in England after nearly thirty years abroad? And why would she travel all the way from London to find out? Why not simply post a letter?

Before she could ask, Cyrus lowered his gangly form onto a stool and said bluntly, “How d'you know our father?”

Lady Milford smiled warmly at him. “Sir Seymour and I met some three decades ago. May I say, with your sandy hair and blue eyes, you resemble him quite remarkably. He was a charming man and an excellent dancer.”

Cyrus nearly choked on a gulp of tea. “Papa, a dancer? But he was always out tromping the countryside or digging up antiquities—when he didn't have his nose buried in a book.”

“Young men can be very eager to please when they're courting. You see, Sir Seymour hoped to win your mother's hand. Lady Hannah Scarborough was one of the most sought-after beauties of the season.”

“Season?” Bella asked in confusion. “Was it winter or summer?”

“The season is always in the spring,” Lila piped up. She was flitting back and forth, offering paper-thin slices of seed cake. “It's when the nobility goes to London for parties and balls.”

Bella glanced at her sister in surprise. “How do
you
know that?”

“Mrs. Norris showed me drawings in a fashion book.” Setting down the plate, Lila turned to Lady Milford and explained, “Mrs. Norris is our neighbor. She's the widow of a vicar, and she used to be invited to a great many parties.
She
said the ladies wear the most splendid gowns. Oh, how I should adore seeing all those pretty dresses.”

Cyrus sneaked another piece of cake. “I'd buy you plenty of gowns if only Bella would let me learn a trade.”

“You know that's out of the question,” Bella said sharply. They'd had this quarrel many times. Regardless of his young age, Cyrus viewed himself as the man of the house. “You're to focus on your studies.”

“Then Lila won't have any new dresses,” he said with a trace of sullenness. “So she might as well stop looking at pictures of them.”

Lila wrinkled her nose at her brother. “Don't be a spoilsport. Someday I'll go to a ball. I'll dance the night away.” Her blue skirt swishing, she whirled around the little parlor as if held in the arms of an imaginary partner.

Bella pursed her lips. Her sister was behaving in far too familiar a manner in front of their guest. Since the conversation had drifted too far afield, she said, “Lady Milford, you claim to have been introduced to our father by a mutual acquaintance. May I ask who?”

“He was a nobleman who shared your father's keen interest in antiquities.” Over the rim of her cup, Lady Milford's violet eyes took on a keen look. “Perhaps you remember him. The Duke of Aylwin.”

Bella froze with the teacup halfway to her lips. Her throat went bone-dry.
Aylwin!
The fellow was a duke? She could still feel Papa's bony fingers clutching at hers as he'd uttered that name.

“Return to Oxford,” he'd gasped out, his face pale from the ravages of illness. “Promise me. Find Aylwin. Find the map. You have half … the pharaoh's treasure.”

His worsening condition had alarmed her. The cholera had struck him swiftly, and she cared nothing for any treasure, only the need to restore him to health. “Please, Papa, you mustn't strain yourself. Rest now, and we'll speak of it on the morrow.”

But there had been no further opportunity for him to elaborate. In the morning he'd been dead.

“Aylwin,” Cyrus said around a bite of cake, crumbs clinging to one corner of his mouth. “Papa never mentioned him to me. What about you, Bella?”

She mutely shook her head. Her heart was thumping very fast. She had kept their father's deathbed revelation to herself. Her brother and sister were only fifteen, and she'd been loath to fill their heads with dreams of treasure maps and a pharaoh's riches. They had no idea she'd been searching for Mr. Aylwin.

And no wonder she hadn't been able to locate the man. Aylwin wasn't a plain
mister.
He was a high-ranking aristocrat. What an amazing twist of fate that Lady Milford knew him. Now, Bella had to find out more without revealing her true purpose …

“A duke!” Lila exclaimed. “Does he live in a castle like a prince?”

“One might say so,” Lady Milford replied. “Aylwin House in London is as large as Buckingham Palace where the Queen resides.”

Lila's eyes grew even brighter. “Oh, my! Have you been a guest of Queen Victoria, too? She looked ever so lovely in her coronation picture! Pray tell, is it true that she's being courted by a prince from Germany?”

Bella wanted no more distracting commentary. She set down her cup with a click. “I'm sure Lady Milford didn't come here to gossip. Lila, Cyrus, do leave us now. I should like a word with our guest in private.”

Protests erupted from the twins. “But we haven't finished our tea,” Cyrus complained.

“I want to hear more about this duke,” Lila added. “To think that Papa never told us he knew someone who was almost royalty!”

Bella clapped her hands. “That's enough, both of you. Run along this instant. And kindly close the door on your way out.”

They continued to grumble, though both reluctantly obeyed. Lila dipped a curtsy to their visitor and then flounced out of the parlor, her nose in the air. Cyrus snagged another slice of cake and followed his sister, shutting the door with a bang.

The fire crackled into the silence. In the corner, rain dripped in slow plops from the leak in the roof.

Lady Milford sat serenely sipping her tea, as if unperturbed by the twins' impolite behavior. Bella wanted to pepper the woman with questions about the Duke of Aylwin. Yet she must proceed carefully. Unlike her siblings, she knew better than to trust the nobility.

Bella released a slow breath. “I must apologize for their chatter, my lady. It has been difficult to teach them proper conduct while living abroad, among people with different customs.”

“They are lively children with a keen interest in the world. I find that refreshing.” With an enigmatic smile, Lady Milford regarded Bella. “Sir Cyrus mentioned that your mother died shortly after he and his sister were born, and that you raised them.”

“Yes. They never knew Mama at all.”

“You must have been rather young yourself at the time.”

“Fourteen, my lady.” Noting a slight arching of the woman's black brow, Bella felt compelled to add, “I was not without resources. My father hired a nurse who stayed with us for a good many years.”

A pang stirred in her breast. It had been difficult to say good-bye to Jaleh. They had all wept copiously, but Bella hadn't been able to afford to bring the old woman with them to England.

Lady Milford leaned forward. “And how are your resources now, my dear? I don't mean to pry, but did Sir Seymour leave you an inheritance? Or is this cottage all that you have left?”

Bella stiffened. “It's enough for us. We do not require fancy trappings.”

“Forgive me, I've offended you. Pray consider my interest only as concern from an old friend of the family.”

Her expression was so kindly that Bella felt an unexpected urge to blurt out all of her troubles, to unload the burden that had been weighing on her since the death of her father. But this woman was clearly a busybody, and Bella couldn't shake the odd sense of being maneuvered by her for some unknown purpose. It was time that she herself took control of the conversation.

“I hope you'll tell me more about my father's life here in England, my lady. Papa was so involved in studying ancient civilizations that he seldom spoke of his own past.” Bella shaped her lips into a polite smile. “This duke … you said his name was Aylwin? Why did you think I might have heard of him?”

“The fourth duke was a scholar and an amateur Egyptologist. He engaged your father's assistance in excavating a tomb in Egypt.” Lady Milford tilted her head to the side. “Do you truly not remember?”

“Should I?”

“You went to Egypt with your parents, though you could not have been more than five or six years old at the time.”

Egypt.
Bella had a sudden vision of herself digging in the hot sand, trying to widen a hole that kept refilling, and an older boy laughing at her struggles. Then the fragment of memory vanished, leaving her disconcerted. “My family wandered far afield. We traveled to many different places throughout Asia and the Near East.”