Authors: Something Like a Lady
Kay Springsteen (46 page)
So why not tell her now?
He rubbed his forehead with one hand. That was the answer, of course. He had to tell her. She
’
d likely be mildly offended at his grandfather
’
s mention of a well-bred woman… But
he could tease her out of her temper. And
once she was aware and they
’
d had a good laugh together, he
’
d be free to accept the payment and begin building their future. Sighing, he stepped to the desk and lifted his black wool coat from the chair back.
The soft knock on the door brought his head up with a snap. Ha
d she come looking for him? No…
she
’
d not bother with knocking.
“
Yes, come in,
”
he called.
Marie, Annabella
’
s maid, stepped into the room. Her face bore a strong resemblance to the ashes in the hearth, and her wide blue eyes darted about the room before settling on him.
“
Sorry to trouble you, m
’
lord…
”
She twisted her hands together and for the first time, he noticed she clutched a long drawstring bag
made of black velvet. A French
fleur-de-lis
in shining gold had been embroidered midway down, and beneath that,
a
name
. He strained to make it out.
Lascombes
.
“
What is it, Marie?
”
he asked, taking care to speak in a gentle tone. Given the maid
’
s nervous state, perhaps the French themselves had delivered the velvet bag.
“
I was cleaning your
—
that is, Lady Seabrook
’
s room as instructed… looking for the spiders, you know.
”
She sighed and glanced around the room. Then she lowered her voice and continued.
“
Mrs. Miller and I — we turned the mattress because them mouse spiders like to hide in the cracks.
”
Jon raised an eyebrow, growing impatient for the story to reach its conclusion.
“
We found this under the mattress, m
’
lord.
”
She trembled so badly the bag began madly swinging to and fro.
Jon scooped it out of the air. It wasn
’
t heavy so much as bulky. Stuffed with something. He shook it but nothing stirred. Probably not family silver or jewels then. He set it on his desk.
“
We didn
’
t open it, m
’
lord! But this was shoved into the top and it fell out.
”
Marie pulled a folded piece of paper from the deep pocket of her uniform.
“
We — Mrs. Miller and I — we don
’
t know as to whether we should tell Lady Seabrook or just put it back where we found it… Mr. Franklin has run an errand, so Mr. Carson thought I should bring it to you straightaway.
”
Jon accepted the note with a murmured thanks, perplexed. No one else had stayed in his rooms as far as he knew, and the bag was not his. So the odds of it belonging to someone other than Annabella were slim. He glanced at the paper the maid had passed to him.
Juliet
had been written in tidy script across the middle
.
His heart slammed against his chest.
“
Thank you, Marie. I
’
ll
see to
this.
”
The poor girl offered a quick curtsey and fled from the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Jon scratched his chin as he stared at the folded letter. It wasn
’
t sealed. She
’
d never know if he read it.
I
’
d know.
He had no way of
deducing
when she
’
d written it, but in any case, it wasn
’
t
addressed to him, and he trusted his wife. He dropped the letter on top of the papers from Webber. The velvet bag with the gold
fleur-de-lis
puzzled him. He
’
d seen bags like it before, usually containing fine French wine, and once given as
gifts
to those w
ho hosted house parties. Of course, with the advent of the war, that practice had ceased. He took up the bag. It looked far too new to be a remnant left over from the days when French wine might be a welcome
offering
.
The wine Annabella had foxed herself o
n had been French. He
’
d barely paid attention to the label —
might
it
have been
Lascombes
?
Was that where she had acquired the wine, then? Curiosity ate at his conscience, but he set it aside as merely another matter to discuss and clear up between them.
Finally, he shook his head and picked up the letter. Opening the bag was as easy as stretching the drawstring. But when he started to slip the letter into the long neck, it caught on whatever was inside. Papers of some kind, from the feel. He stretched the opening wider and shook his head. The way they were all jammed in there left little room for anything else. It would be easier to dump the lot out and straighten everything then put it all back.
He tipped the bag.
A folded piece of paper fluttered down to the desk. Ah! The marriage lines. He plucked it from the desk and dropped it onto the stack of papers from Webber. Then he shook the rest of the contents over his desk and jerked to a halt, staring.
Banknotes. What must be hundreds of pounds. He selected o
ne from the top of the pile.
Graeme Markwythe, Duke of Wyndham
had been carefully scribed o
nto the payment line. The next was marked in a similar fashion. Another was made out simply to
Bearer
.
Frowning in confusion, Jon raked a hand through his hair. If Grey possessed such funds, why was Wyndham Green in
its
horrible state? And how the devil had Annabella ended up with the lot?
Unless Grey didn
’
t know he had the funds. And Annabella or her mother had
—
Ludicrous thoughts! All of them. The explanation would be perfectly simple — an allowance of some sort, perhaps.
He gaze fell on the letter. If the explanation was contained in that,
may
hap he could put the matter to rest without troubling her. Before he could talk himself out of it, he unfolded the
paper
and
smoothed it on the desk
. It wasn
’
t a long
missive
, and it bore no date.
My dearest Juliet,
Please forgive me for not sending for you as we
’
d planned, and for the delay in getting you this message. Things went horribly wrong after you left, and I find myself in a bit of a predicament involving the Earl of Seabrook. I do not know if you will recall, but apparently you met the man at a dinner held in my honor. He arrived at Wyndham Green shortly after that night, sent, according to him, at the behest of Markwythe to inquire as to my welfare. We have been found out, I
’
m afraid. Markwythe knows you are not I.
Lord Seabrook assures me that my stepbrother wishes you no harm, and that he does not know your true identity. Lord Seabrook has brought me to his home in Coventry, and I do not know when I shall be able to get away. I am sending you funds so that you may leave London and return to Wyndham Green, and if all goes well, I hope to meet you there soon. Take care, my darling, and please leave London posthaste for your own good. I shall see you shortly, as soon as I can slip away from Lord Seabrook
’
s care.
With my Love,
Your humble friend A.
Bile rose, but the burn in his throat was a minor irritation compared to the hot knife that had just sliced open his heart. He couldn
’
t have read it right. Jon rubbed his eyes and
started over
. The words hadn
’
t changed.
After their night together, he
’
d been so certain… But the banknotes, so obviously not belonging to Annabella, yet in her possession. A
message
to her accomplice warning her to leave London. He didn
’
t know when she
’
d written it
,
but her words seemed fairly incriminating. Could the plot she
’
d hatched with the maid have been deeper than she
’
d alluded to?
No!
Jon gathered the banknotes, unconsciously arranging them i
nto piles by denomination.
I trust her. She has an explanation and I
’
ll wait for it.
Once the banknotes were neatly stacked, they slid easily into the velvet bag. He slipped the letter to Juliet in on top and drew the string closed.
Frantic pounding on the door startled him.
“
Yes? Come,
”
he called out as he placed the velvet bag in the bottom desk drawer for safekeeping. A little extra security seemed in order, so he locked the drawer and pocketed the key. Then he looked up.
“
Beg pardon, m
’
lord…
”
Red-faced and panting, Ernest stood braced against the doorframe.
“
Ernest?
”
Jon
’
s heart lurched into his throat and he jumped to his feet.
“
Is something amiss? An—
Lady Seabrook?
”
An ugly picture of Annabella lying injured — or worse — on the archery range rose
,
but he squashed it and waited.
“
No, m
’
lord.
‘
Tis Mr. Houghton.
”
Ernest panted and swallowed hard.
“
He
’
s got an ewe in lamb what
’
s having trouble. I tried to find Mr. Mosely in the stables but this is his half
-
day.
”
Relief
weakened Jon’s
kne
es. He drew a steadying breath.
“
What seems to be the problem?
”
“
Mr. Houghton says the lamb
’
s likely stuck. The ewe
’
s been down going on two days.
”
A frown pinched Jon
’
s forehead. Two days was a bit long. There might be no hope for the lamb but mayhap the ewe could be saved. One life saved was better than none. Jon buttoned his coat as he walked to the door, considering his options.
He’d been a boy no more than Ernest’s age when his grandfather had insisted he work
with the sheepherders. Cyril Houghton was
far more experienced
. He
’
d have tried everything before asking for help.
“
Is Beecham in the stables?
”
he asked as he pulled the door shut and directed Ernest toward the back of the hall. The groom had come from a long family of sheep folk. The fact that he preferred equines wouldn
’
t prevent him from assisting. Jon had a feeling they
’
d need all the help they could get.
****
Annabella watched the arrow bounce off the target and land in the grass off to the side. Shaking her head, she stepped away from the archeria and rested her bow against the stone battlement.
“
It certainly is different shooting from
on
high.
”
She
’
d probably never be able to hit a target from
such a vantage point
the way Gran did
,
but she enjoyed their time in the tower more than on the archery range. Something about the bird
’
s eye view on the world appealed, but it was more than that. On the calmest of days, a steady wind whistled through the archers
’
s
lots
in the stone
, a musical, mesmerizing, mystical sound
.
Gran stepped away from the archeria and set her bow next to Annabella
’
s.
“
I find the challenge of shooting from
up here
sharpens my skills.
”
She leaned forward and peered into Annabella
’
s face.
“
But I suspect you get something else from our visits here.
”
“
It
’
s the whispers…
”
E
mbarrassment flooded her face
with heat
.
“
I suppose that sounds mad. I sometimes think the sighs of the wind sound like people talking and I imagine the warriors who did battle up here.
”
Gran
’
s mouth fell open. Staring as though she were seeing Annabella for the first time, she adva
nced a step.
Wonderful, now she
’
ll know you
’
ve gone insane
.
“
You hear them, too?
”
asked the dowager after a lengthy silence.
“
I thought I was the only one.
”
Gran knew what she was talking about!
Mute with shock, Annabella could only nod.
“
Jonathan thinks I
’
m quite mad, you know, so I don
’
t talk about them.
”
“
Yes… yes, he
’
s quite practical, really, isn
’
t he?
”
mused Annabella, leaning against the wall.
“
Not particularly imaginative.
”
Well, except in ways she wasn
’
t going to discuss with his
grandmother
.
Gran shot her hand out and cupped Annabella
’
s chin, searching her face with deep intensity. Then she let go and stepped back with a satisfied smile.
“
So… you and my grandson managed to work matters through.
”
With a gasp, Annabella turned away, presenting her face to the cooling breeze before her head erupted in flames.
“
I always had confidence you would.
”
Gran chuckled softly.
“
But why are you up here with an old woman when you and your husband should be planning your delayed honeymoon?
”
Oh, please, just shoot me with an arrow!
Whatever had happened to the
contentious
dowager who missed her shots with discussion of delicate matters? Annabella buried her face in her hands and shook her head. When she looked up, Gran
’
s warm smile greeted her.
“
Welcome to the family, Lady Seabrook. Now, where has Lord Seabrook taken himself off to?
”
“
H-he
’
s in his study. He said he had some papers
from his solicitor
to go over.
”
Something flickered in Gran
’
s eyes and her smile dimmed a bit.
“
Pish. Paperwork can wait. Go find him and have him walk with you in the gardens. The fragrant lilies are blooming particularly well this season.
”
Annabella wasn
’
t certain about the walk, but finding Jon suddenly seemed a wonderful notion. Gran gave her a little nudge. It was all the encouragement Annabella needed. Giddy, she raced down the spiraling stone steps, moving so quickly she was dizzy when she reached the bottom. Through the salon she ran, uncaring of the startled cry from the maid dusting the tables there.
Past the ornate staircase… into the hall of weapons and portraits…
The door at the end of the hallway was closed. Ignoring propriety, Annabella lifted the latch and pushed it open without knocking.
“
Jon?
”
The room was vacant. Annabella halted in the center and twirled slowly in case for some unknown reason he might be climbing the bookcases. Her headlong race to be with her husband caught up with her and she stood gasping for breath and pondering the puzzle of his whereabouts.
She poured herself a splash of wine from the decanter on the s
ideboard
,
sniffed
,
and took a sip.
Madeira
. She might have known. As her breathing began to return to normal, she wandered to the desk. So much had happened since her first foray into the study… She
’
d been a child then… and a part of her would always be ch
ild
like
, she supposed. But she was a woman now, grown and… married.
A soft knock on the study door pulled Annabella from her thoughts. Curious, she walked to the door and opened.
A footman stood on the other side.
“
Yes?
”
she asked, wishing she knew the man
’
s name. She should know the servants
’
names, shouldn
’
t she? In order to properly run a household?
“
A gentleman has called
,
asking to see you, my lady,
”
announced the footman.
“
He
’
s been shown to the main parlor.
”
Someone was paying her a call? Annabella blinked, surprised.
“
Thank you. I
’
ll be there directly.
”
As the footman vanished down the hall, she wound her hair onto her head and rearranged the pins. She probably looked a fright, but at least she could appear a bit like a lady ought to.
Drawing in a fo
rtifying breath, she straightened her spine and walked to the parlor. Her gaze found the waiting caller, and a chill spread through her body.
Weasel Face.
“
Mr. Dawes.
”
A ball of apprehension pooled in her stomach, making her nauseous. Annabella prayed it was because of how uneasy she always felt in the presence of Sheridan Dawes and not because something was amiss.
He stood, wringing the brim of his hat with both hands.
“
Lady Annabella, I
’
m delighted to find you in good health.
”
“
Please, sit.
”
Annabella gestured for him to take his seat again then sat in the chair farthest from him, seeking as much distance as possible.
“
Forgive my frankness, but I am a bit surprised to see you here.
”
Had her mother sent him? Had Grey contacted her mother to inform her of Annabella
’
s ruse? Had Weasel Face come to collect her?
And Juliet…
Dare she ask him?
“
My apologies. Haste seemed the proper course of action… Haste and discretion. When her grace returned
from Bath to find
you
missing,
she was beside herself. Especially when her stepson, the duke, arrived and unleashed his fury, claiming her grace had set out to cause a scandal by sending a maid to London…
”
The room started spinning. Her heart pounded so hard and fast in her chest that she couldn
’
t concentrate on what Dawes was saying. This could not be happening.
Jon had promised…
You and your selfishness. How could you have been so stupid? Jon told you Markwythe knew Juliet was an imposter and still you didn
’
t bother to protect her.
“
My dear Lady Annabella, are you unwell? You
’
ve gone quite pale. Should I—
”
“
What of my maid?
”
Her voice trembled. She placed her hand against her chest to stop it from jumping out.
“
I
’
m sorry, m
’
lady.
Juliet i
s to be sent away posthaste. Has already been relieved of her duties at Wyndham Green.
”
His face was expressionless, his dark, soulless eyes unreadable.
Had she not been sitting, she would have collapsed to the floor
. Juliet, oh my poor Juliet. Forgive me.
“
I gave her grace my word that I
’
d see you home safely.
”
Home.
If Wyndham Green had eve
r been her home, it surely wouldn
’
t be now. Nor would it be her mother
’
s. She couldn
’
t go back there. Ever.
And I can
’
t let Mother stay there.
And I can
’
t let Markwythe blame Juliet — punish her and my mother — for my deceit.
Jon. I have to find Jon.
She shot up off the chair, anxious to be rid of Sheridan Dawes.
“
That won
’
t be necessary, Mr. Dawes. I
’
m afraid there
’
s been a terrible misunderstanding. I must speak with my husband, Lord Seabrook, immediately. If you will excuse me, I
’
ll have a footman show you out.
”
He got to his feet slowly, his jaw tight.
“
I wouldn
’
t feel right if I didn
’
t do as I promised and fetch you for her grace.
”
His voice came out in clipped syllables, as if laced with anger.
“
I
’
m certain my mother will understand. Thank you for your c
oncern, but I have no intention
of leaving with you. Now
,
if you will excuse me.
”
Without waiting for his reply, she hurried from the room. The
same
footman stood in the entryway.
“
Please show Mr. Dawes out.
”
He bowed.
“
Right away, my lady.
”
Jon,
I need you. P
lease hurry home from wherever you
’
ve taken yourself off to.
Resolute in her decision to help Juliet
, she
returned
to the study.
Tears wet her face but she d
ash
ed them away with the backs of her hands as
she
strode
to the desk and sat. How could she
have been so selfish, so remiss in
not
sending for her dear friend? What a mess she
’
d made of things. Her mother would never forgive her… and neither would Juliet. Annabella couldn
’
t stand
herself
at the moment. If only she
’
d gone to London
as
she
’d been
s
upposed to. If only she hadn
’
t let her hurt and anger at Markwythe cloud her judgment.
She opened the top drawer and removed a fresh sheet of writing paper. This time her note would hold an apology. Not to Juliet — she would carry that one in person — if she could locate her dear friend.
With a trembling hand, Annabella
dipped the quill in the griffin
’
s claw ink well.