Regina Scott (3 page)

She still wore the blue dress, though she’d had time to wind her hair up into a braided coronet that suited her. She dipped a quick curtsey. “Lord Allyndale. We didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow.”

Chase bowed over her hand and found it trembling. Was he such a fearsome thing then? He glanced at Trevor, but his friend was frowning. He took a step back and bumped Trev’s leg on purpose. “May I present my good friend, Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam, baronet?”

She curtsied again, and Trev wiped the frown from his face and bowed. “Forgive the interruption, Miss Price,” he said as he straightened, “but I had to thank you personally for saving Lady Phoebe’s life. The Dearborns have been good friends for years, and I take your assistance as a personal favor.”

Putting it on a little thick,
Chase thought. But Miss Price merely lowered her gaze to the shine of Trev’s black high-topped boots.

“You are too kind,” she murmured. “I’m sure Lady Phoebe must have realized by now how little I did to help her.”

“On the contrary,” Chase assured her, “she is effusive in her praise. You have made a conquest, Miss Price.”

She looked up then, meeting his gaze, and once more he felt put firmly in his place. “I didn’t intend to conquer anyone, my lord. It was very kind of you to visit, but I fear I cannot stay. This afternoon’s events overtired my stepmother. I must return to her side immediately. Good day.”

She dipped one last graceful curtsey and slipped
from the room while Chase and Trev were still in midbow.

Trev met Chase’s puzzled gaze. “For a woman out to trap you, she doesn’t have a great deal of use for your company,” his friend pointed out. “In fact, I’ve never seen a woman more intent on resisting your least charm.”

Chase shook his head and motioned Trev out of the room ahead of him. “Then perhaps I will have to become irresistible, for I intend to learn everything I can about the formidable Miss Price.”

M
eredee didn’t know whether to be pleased or perplexed. What did it mean that Lord Allyndale had brought his close friend to meet her only hours after being introduced? She could not credit that she’d made such an impression on the earl. They’d only spoken a few sentences!

And then there was Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam, easily one of the handsomest men in Scarborough, with his raven hair and square jaw. She was no student of fashion, but even she could tell that his navy coat had been cut by a London tailor. Still, she could not be sure of his character. His lips might smile, but calculation crouched in his cool, green eyes. She’d have been tempted to stay safely in her little room, but Algernon was certain that she and Mrs.

Price should not alter their habits to avoid any possibility of suspicion. So, while her stepbrother cooled
his heels at the inn, she accompanied Mrs. Price to the spa house the next morning.

The town of Scarborough ran along a hillside and sloped gently down in the center toward the shore like the neckline of a frock. The headland that held Scarborough’s castle (and several regiments) separated the more rustic North Bay from the South and sheltered the harbor and fishing fleet.

Scarborough’s spa house sat to the south. The long, low building lay close to the shore and could be reached by driving along the sands. Mrs. Price insisted on puffing down the tree-shadowed path that wound down the cliff. Meredee enjoyed the views of the sea on the way down, but some days she’d have far preferred to lounge in a sedan chair like many of the fashionable ladies and let someone else’s legs carry her back up.

The spa house was its usual hub of activity that morning as they entered the receiving room. Already ladies in bright flowered bonnets sat on the harp-backed chairs that lined the pale green walls and chatted. Their voices rose and fell like the sound of the waves on the shore just outside. Couples promenaded around the polished wood floor or paused to gaze out the row of clear glass windows at the sea. Many people were already making for a door at the far end of the room, which led to a flight of dark stone stairs and a terrace that held the two wells of healing spring water for which the town was famous.

“And here is the savior of Scarborough Bay,” proclaimed William Barriston as they entered the receiving room. The governor of the spa was a tall, thin man with an engaging grin who was rumored to have attained the stunning age of eighty-eight years by drinking daily of the waters. Meredee had known him since she was a baby. His bright blue eyes twinkled in his wrinkled face as he approached her now.

“What is this I’ve been hearing about you from Mrs. Barriston?” he said, shaking his long finger at her. “Quite the heroine, eh?”

Meredee wasn’t surprised that his wife had told him the tale. The governor’s third wife was the area’s most accomplished gossip, and someone Meredee avoided whenever possible.

“I have received no less than five requests for introductions already,” he continued. “One fellow even offered me a gold piece.” He rubbed his gloved hands together gleefully.

“It was nothing,” Meredee insisted. “I wish everyone would stop dwelling on it.”

He patted the shoulder of her jonquil-colored short jacket. “You are the latest seven days’ wonder, my dear. I advise you to make the most of it.”

Impossible. She had to avoid undue attention, for Algernon’s sake if not her own sanity. She’d never liked being the center of attention. She didn’t come to the spa to preen.

Not so Mrs. Price. She immediately set about
greeting everyone they knew, from portly Mr. Cranell, who was an old friend of Meredee’s father’s, to the bold countess who had introduced herself yesterday after Meredee had rescued Lady Phoebe. Meredee smiled politely through every conversation, trying to keep from fidgeting. She’d have much rather cheered Mr. Openshaw, who had lost an arm serving on the Peninsula, or the country squire crippled with gout. The sadness in their eyes, their tenacity in adversity, spoke to her heart. She felt more at home with them than with the fashionable ladies who wrinkled their noses at the strong metallic taste of the waters they sipped, all the while their gazes roamed the room like those of lionesses intent on their prey.

Ah, but she shouldn’t judge them. She had been told time and again—by her father, by her governess—that the surest way to a secure future was to find a wealthy husband. Even Mrs. Price understood that. She’d already buried two husbands, and still she batted her thinning lashes, swished her pale muslin skirts and giggled like a girl at something the widowed Mr. Cranell said, making the old fellow turn as red as the tops of his boots. As soon as she could, Meredee excused herself and went to stand by the windows, gazing out at the sea.

She could hear the waves through the glass as they tumbled over the sands. Already men in dark coats and women with pale parasols wandered the shore. But Scarborough’s bays never failed to remind her of
her father. How many times had he trod those golden sands, head bowed, hands clasped behind his black coat, while she scurried along behind him, hoping she might find a way to be useful to him.

“Wait for me, Papa!” she’d cry.

But as usual, he hadn’t waited. He’d gone on ahead of her and left her behind, no more sure of her purpose.

“Such dark thoughts on this fine day,” Lord Allyndale said quietly beside her.

Meredee took a deep breath and composed her face. He had no need to know anything more about her. In fact, the more she said, the more likely he was to connect her with Algernon. She turned and smiled at him. “Good morning, my lord. And how is your dear sister?”

“Fine, as you can see,” he said, nodding to where Lady Phoebe was squealing with delight over another young lady’s velvet jacket. His sister wore a pink muslin gown with ruffles at the hem that fluttered as she moved. Her straw bonnet was covered with a profusion of ribbons and silk flowers, making it look as if she had brought spring with her. The earl himself looked more somber, dressed in a navy coat and buff-colored breeches above gleaming boots.

“You don’t seem to have thrown off yesterday’s events as easily,” he said. “If I may, Miss Price, you look tired.”

Was that concern in his voice? Why should he
care? “And do you flatter all the young ladies this way, my lord?” Meredee countered.

He chuckled, a warm rumble that was hard to resist. “I’m afraid I’m not good at doing the pretty. Some other fellow would quote you poetry or the Bard. ‘She walks in beauty like the night,’ or some such.”

“I’ve never been all that much for poetry,” Meredee admitted.
No, it’s more likely quiet concern that will be my undoing.

“That we have in common, then. What do you prefer to read?”

Meredee eyed him. His head was cocked, and the light through the windows touched his sandy hair with gold and highlighted the planes on his face. Nothing in his look or his attention said he was teasing her. How extraordinary! But she doubted he’d look so attentive if he knew the truth. Most men would be aghast at her reading material. Even her stepmother turned up her nose. Only one other man had ever listened to her prose on, and she’d done her best to forget him. She would be safer admitting to the occasional gothic novel, which she did enjoy.

“Ah,” he said just as she realized she had probably been silent too long. “Perhaps you prefer not to read.”

She refused to leave him with that impression. “Most likely I read too much, my lord. I love history, and the latest scientific discoveries. I recently found
a copy of Mr. Humboldt’s treatise on his travels to the equatorial regions of the South American continent. It was most inspiring.”

She waited for his eyes to glaze over, to hear him murmur polite excuses and hurry away as generally happened when she shared her pastimes. But he merely leaned closer, his eyes lighting. “And do you adhere to his theory that the earth’s magnetic field varies between the poles and the equator?”

“He was most persuasive, though I should like to see his observations duplicated on the African continent. Flora and fauna would be more of a challenge there, I think.”

He straightened and beamed at her, suddenly looking as young and carefree as Algernon. “My thoughts exactly. And what of more practical matters? Are you a staunch supporter of Hannah More or do your tastes run to Mary Wollstonecraft?”

“Must it be one or the other? Mrs. More instructs us to read the Bible and think on how we can best serve the Lord. Mrs. Wollstonecraft insists that only a woman who uses her intelligence can truly find her purpose. I do not see that the two contradict each other.”

He laughed. “I’d like to see you explain that to them.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose they would find a great deal to argue about. What of you, my lord? Which do you find more useful?”

His gaze traveled to where his sister was even now blushing as a tall, angular young man bowed over her hand. “The Bible guides us in our lives, but every woman should use her intellect to ensure her future. Excuse me, Miss Price.”

She curtsied, but he was already striding across the room to his sister’s side. As Meredee watched, the gawky youth paled, stammered and then stumbled way from Lady Phoebe, who turned to her brother, mouth drawn in a tight little bow.

“What did he want?” Mrs. Price begged, hurrying up to Meredee, breaths coming in little pants. “Does he suspect?”

Meredee shook her head. “No. He talked only of science and philosophy.”

“Science?” Her stepmother drew a breath that swelled her lacy bodice. “I would not have thought him capable of it.”

Across the room, the earl took his sister’s arm and drew her toward the door that led to the wells. “Just because he’s taken a dislike to Algernon,” Meredee said, “doesn’t make him a monster, madam.”

“Well, I like that!” Mrs. Price huffed. “And why was I dragged from my home if not to escape a monster?”

Meredee sighed and took her arm. “I begin to wonder. Have you drunk from the wells, then?”

“No,” her stepmother said with a pout. “I didn’t
dare leave the room once I saw you conversing with that wretch.”

“Then let’s get you a cup.” She led her stepmother through the long room and out the door.

Once outside, the sound of the waves came louder. At high tide, she knew, they could pound against the rounded stones of the terrace and dampen the path with spray. Now a few leaves dotted the dark steps as they made their way down to the stone-lined recess that housed the two wells. Mrs. Price was convinced the Chalybeate Well was the finer of the two, so Meredee steered her toward the line of people waiting for a drink dipped from the stone-edged hole of the south well by a gentle widow.

One of the wonders of Scarborough was the variety of people who were welcomed at the wells. Everyone from Mrs. Price’s new friend, the countess, to the tiny son of the local coalmonger stood waiting their turns, sure that a sip from the mineral springs would make them stronger, or at least more fashionable. But Meredee and Mrs. Price had only taken a few steps when she saw Lord Allyndale and Lady Phoebe near the north well.

Mrs. Price must have sighted him at nearly the same time, for she nudged Meredee. “Smile,” she hissed. “You do not want him to think anything’s amiss.”

Meredee forced a smile, but neither of the Dearborns seemed to be looking in her direction. They had
reached the front of their line and stood beside the low well. Mrs. Dennings, one of the elderly widows who served the water, lifted a tin cup. Meredee thought that surely Lady Phoebe would take it, but she refused the spa water with a shake of her honey-colored curls and a scrunch of her pert nose. To Meredee’s surprise, it was the earl who drank of the healing waters, head up, gaze out over the sea, in one great gulp as if taking particularly foul medicine.

Her father had drunk it like that, when he was afraid of dying.

Meredee blinked. Chase Dearborn could not be ill. Her father had been thin and growing thinner every day, his skin gray, his eyes shadowed. Lord Allyndale looked the picture of health—tall, solid, imposing. He turned and saw her staring at him then, and her cheeks heated in a blush.

For a moment, their gazes locked, held. Why did he look at her so intently? Did he find her as intriguing to watch? Had he found their conversation as interesting as she had? Did he admire her?

The stone floor seemed to shift under her. She caught her breath and clutched her stepmother’s arm to hold herself steady. Lord Allyndale merely inclined his head in acknowledgement, then walked swiftly to the stairs, his sister hurrying behind.

“Well, I like that!” Mrs. Price grumbled, her gaze following them. “Not even a fare thee well!” She paled suddenly and grabbed Meredee’s hand where
it still rested on her arm. “Did you say something to make him take us in dislike?”

Meredee took a deep breath and pulled away. What was wrong with her? Had she expected some kind of public display? She wasn’t the type to inspire sonnets; by his own admission he wasn’t the type to compose them. If she hadn’t saved his sister’s life, they would probably have never met.

“I don’t believe his actions had anything to do with us,” she told her stepmother.

Mrs. Price nodded, biting her lower lip. But Meredee couldn’t tell her what she really thought, for surely that was an even greater fancy. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought the earl was running away from her, just as she’d run from him the other day.

“But wasn’t that Miss Price?” Phoebe asked as Chase all but stuffed her into their waiting carriage outside the spa house.

“It was, but I spoke to her earlier.” He climbed in beside her, shut the door and rapped on the upper panel to signal his driver to start. He hadn’t intended to talk to Meredee Price, though he’d noticed her the moment he’d entered the spa. Something about her drew his attention, awakened his senses. He’d have liked nothing better than to spend a few hours in her company. But he knew he had to be circumspect. Undue attentions usually led to assumptions
of betrothals he had no intention of confirming. He hadn’t come to Scarborough looking for a wife. Only his life.