Regina Scott (5 page)

“Apparently, gentlemen intent on quizzing me,” she replied.

“More sole, Miss Price?” Lord Allyndale put in, forcing her to turn away from Sir Trevor before the baronet could formulate a reply. Lord Allyndale’s mouth was held in a tight line as he offered her the plate, but his blue eyes twinkled. He was obviously trying not to laugh.

But was it Sir Trevor or her who had amused him?

What a cipher Miss Price was. She smiled readily at quips, responded appropriately to most questions. She was the picture of loveliness, all shades of gold, sitting beside him. But when she thought no one was watching, her face betrayed her least emotion. At moments, he caught her gazing at him with such perplexity that he wondered what she was seeing.

“She has no money, no family to brag of and a cutting wit,” Trevor said after the ladies had left them to their conversation. “I see no need to prolong the acquaintance.”

Chase shook his head. “Is that all you noticed? She has a admirable presence, a commendable loyalty and an enviable intelligence.”

“Yes, and strength and vitality. By all means hire
her as your sister’s companion, but look for more in a wife.”

“What makes you think I’m looking for a wife?” Chase asked with a laugh.

“Miss Price is obviously no danger,” Trevor replied. “Why else show such interest?” He moved from his chair to the one Meredee had vacated and leaned closer. “Listen—I had word from a friend today. That’s why I was detained. Delacorte is back in London.”

Chase snorted. “His creditors will no doubt be delighted to hear it.”

“But you should not. It seems he blames you for his troubles, or so he confided over too much wine. He claims Phoebe loves him, and you forced them apart.”

Chase felt his mouth tighten. “He has no right to speak of Phoebe, not after trying to force her into marriage.”

“Agreed. I only tell you to warn you.”

Chase nodded. “And I appreciate that. I promise you, I won’t allow the man to hurt my sister.”

But Phoebe would not make his job any easier, Chase thought as he and Trevor went to join the ladies in the withdrawing room. His sister seemed stuck in perpetual girlhood, always focused on her own needs. He’d never told her about Victor Delacorte’s plan to abduct her and force her to marry him. Chase and Trev had stopped him before he could carry through
with his plans, and Chase had decided not to explain it all to Phoebe, concerned he might frighten her into a shell. But would she act any more sensibly if Delacorte showed his face again?

W
hen Chase and Trevor entered the withdrawing room, Phoebe was playing at the spinet while Meredee and her stepmother sat on dainty chairs, listening. Trevor immediately went to turn pages for Phoebe. Chase joined his other guests.

“Your sister is an impassioned player, my lord,” Meredee ventured, her gaze on Phoebe’s flying fingers.

“My sister seldom does anything without passion,” Chase replied. “Do you play, Miss Price?”

“No. My father thought it more important that I memorize the Latin names of seashells than to learn to play. I sing on occasion.”

She said it without rancor, but the way she continued to watch his sister told him she wondered what it would have been like had it been otherwise.

“Perhaps you would care to share a song with us,” he suggested.

Her gaze did not waver, though her cheeks reddened. “I’m sure you would much rather listen to your sister.”

Something in her tone indicated that she’d far prefer to listen. Yet the more he knew of her, the less he believed that she was shy and retiring. She spoke her mind easily enough. Why not sing? Most women he knew loved performing. “We cannot require our kind host and hostess to furnish all the entertainment,” her stepmother put in. “I’m sure you would not want Lord Allyndale to take us in dislike.”

She paled at that, as if losing his good regard meant the noose. Was it her stepmother who was pushing her at him then? He’d certainly met a few marriage-minded mamas since he’d ascended to his title.

He leaned closer to Meredee and caught the scent of lavender from her golden hair. “My sister adores being the center of attention. Sing only if it amuses you, Miss Price.”

She met his gaze, her gray eyes dark and unfathomable. Once again he had the impression that she could see deep inside him, knew every thought in his head. This time he found it far more intriguing.

“Thank you for your kind offer, my lord,” she murmured. “If you’d like, I’ll sing.”

He felt the oddest urge to reach out and press her hand in thanks. Instead, he rose and called to
his sister. “Miss Price has agreed to favor us with a song.”

Phoebe immediately stopped playing and clapped her hands. “Splendid! Let’s see what we both know.”

Meredee rose to join her, and the two conferred a moment, Meredee’s golden crown near Phoebe’s darker blond curls. They settled on a song quickly, agreed on the key, and Phoebe played an introduction. Chase took a seat beside Mrs. Price.

Meredee’s voice was high and sweet, the song encouraging. He felt himself leaning forward, nodding along. She kept her gaze focused in the distance, as if unaware of her rapt audience, every part of her tuned to her task. Funny, he’d always wondered how angels would sing. Perhaps now he knew.

Meredee’s heart was pounding so loudly she wondered that anyone had heard a word she’d sung. Yet there was Lord Allyndale, smiling at her as if she’d discovered the way to reach the moon. She wanted to bathe in the glow, drink deeply of his pleasure. But, as she finished, his butler coughed behind him, and he rose to go speak with the fellow in low tones. Sir Trevor joined them.

“Very nice,” Lady Phoebe said, closing the sheet music. Meredee nodded and wandered back to her stepmother. She hadn’t noticed that the room was so dark. It had seemed much brighter when the earl was smiling at her.

Lord Allyndale returned to their sides and eyed Meredee and her stepmother. Gone was the smile, to be replaced by a frown that sent a shiver through her. “I’m afraid I have bad news. I cannot allow either of you to leave this house tonight.”

Meredee gasped. Did he know? Had someone sent word that Algernon was in Scarborough? Had she somehow given them away by singing her stepbrother’s favorite song?

Mrs. Price rose shakily to her feet. “Stay here? Why?”

“I’m told a storm has sprung up,” he replied. “Between Phoebe’s playing and our location at the back of the house, we didn’t notice.” He paused a moment, and Meredee knew she wasn’t the only one listening. Now she heard it, an uneven rising and falling, as if harsh winds drove pouring rain this way and that.

“Oh,” Mrs. Price said, sinking back onto her seat with a strained laugh. “A storm. Of course.”

“My lord, we cannot impose,” Meredee started, but the earl held up his hand.

“And I cannot be responsible for turning my guests or my staff out into this deluge. You and your coachman will spend the night here. I’m sure the inn will hold your rooms.”

“Well certainly, but …” Mrs. Price trailed off and looked helplessly at Meredee.

She was fairly sure she knew her stepmother’s concern. Algernon would be waiting to hear what they’d
learned about Lord Allyndale’s purpose in Scarborough. When they didn’t return, what would her stepbrother do?

“It’s settled then,” Lord Allyndale said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll instruct the staff to arrange rooms for the three of you.” As if their agreement was never in question, he strode from the room. Sir Trevor also excused himself to check on his horse.

In short order, Meredee found herself ensconced in an elegant bedchamber. She was surprised that Lady Phoebe hadn’t chosen it for herself, for the walls were a pale pink edged in white like the inside of one of her father’s shells, and the furniture was rosewood with gold appointments. A cheery fire was already burning in the white marble fireplace. How lovely it would be to sink into the thick mattress, snuggle under the pretty coverlet. Yet was it advisable to stay?

She pulled aside the heavy crimson drapes and peered out into a dark night where darker shapes of trees whipped back and forth, and rain pattered on the glass. Staying indoors was definitely safer. If only she could be certain Algernon would do the same!

She wasn’t sure what she was to do about toiletries and sleeping attire, but a harried young maid brought her an ivory-backed brush and comb and a lace-edged white flannel nightgown that smelled faintly of camphor.

“Retrieved from a chest in the attic, miss,” the girl confided as she helped Meredee out of her corset and
into the soft folds of the flannel. “The other lady was small enough to wear one of Lady Phoebe’s things, but you’re built on entirely different lines, if I may be so free.”

Meredee was just thankful to have something to wear and told the girl so, then dismissed her so the maid could return to Lady Phoebe. Meredee was sitting in one of the chairs by the fire, combing out her hair, when there was a tap at her door.

“It’s Phoebe,” said a whispered voice when Meredee asked who it was. “May I come in?”

Meredee hurried to open the paneled door for her, and the girl slipped into the room, her filmy white nightgown trailing behind her like wisps of fog.

“Are you all settled?” she asked with a smile undimmed by the lateness of the hour or the circumstances. “My brother wanted to make sure everything was to your liking. I told him to come ask you himself. I think I scandalized the poor dear.”

“You scandalize me, Lady Phoebe,” Meredee said, but she couldn’t help smiling at the girl’s giggle.

Lady Phoebe took both of Meredee’s hands. “I just knew we were going to be friends. May I call you Meredee?”

“Of course,” Meredee replied, touched by the intimacy.

The girl pulled her to the bed and crawled up onto the creamy quilted bedcover. “And now we can have a nice coz.”

“Now?” Meredee stood beside the bed with a frown.

Phoebe spread her hands. “Of course now! That’s why one has friends stay over—to whisper confidences long into the night.”

“I sincerely doubt that’s what your brother had in mind.”

“Probably not,” Phoebe agreed. “But it’s what I had in mind from the moment he suggested that you stay.” She flopped back onto the covers and gazed up at the rosy brocaded hangings that draped the canopied bed. “I’ve always wanted a sister.” She popped up on her elbows. “Do you have any family, Meredee?”

Meredee perched on the edge of the bed. Lady Phoebe was so open, so giving. She hated having to lie. “No sisters, I’m afraid,” she said.

Phoebe sighed. “Well, I suppose brothers have their uses. Sometimes.”

“You’re doing it too brown,” Meredee said. “Your brother seems devoted to you.”

Phoebe plummeted onto her back again. “Oh, he is. Perhaps too devoted.”

Meredee lay back as well and gazed over at the girl, whose honey-colored curls had fanned out on the coverlet. “I haven’t felt like part of a family since my father died. Even then he was fairly busy with his own activities. I think having someone looking out for you would be wonderful. Is there such a thing as too much devotion?”

“There is if it smothers you.”

Meredee frowned. “What do you mean?”

Phoebe sighed. “It’s like he doesn’t trust me, like he cannot believe I might have an idea counter to his.” She waved a hand. “This whole ‘You will stay the night’ thing is a perfect example. He never asked your permission, he never so much as asked your opinion. He decided you’d stay, and that was that.”

Just as he’d filled her plate at dinner, Meredee realized. “But his request was reasonable,” she couldn’t help pointing out. “His decision was made with our best interests at heart.”

“All Chase’s decisions are made with the very best of intentions,” Phoebe assured her. “That doesn’t make them right. If I had my way, I’d never have left London.”

Meredee’s pulse quickened. She’d thought to question Lord Allyndale, and here was his sister ready to tell her all. Yet how could she take advantage of Lady Phoebe’s generous spirit?

Lord, show me how to be a friend to her.

“Why did you leave, then?” Meredee asked.

Phoebe’s hand slapped down on the covers. “Because Chase insisted on it!”

Meredee nodded. “Yes, I understand that. But why? I’ve never heard your names in Scarborough before, so it obviously isn’t your usual summer haunt. You had to rent a house; you didn’t get to set it up the way you liked. You must have left in a hurry.”

“Oh, a terrible rush! I didn’t even have a chance to tell most of my friends I was leaving.”

“But why?” Meredee pressed.

Phoebe smoothed the coverlet she’d wrinkled with her slap only a moment before. “You won’t think badly of me, will you, Miss Price?”

Heavens, what had she uncovered? Had Lady Phoebe committed some scandal? The girl was so impetuous, Meredee could well imagine her tumbling into something before she thought better of it.
Lord, give me guidance.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that I think quite highly of you, Lady Phoebe,” she said gently. “And I believe I was to be Meredee.”

Phoebe’s smile was tremulous. “So you are, my dear Meredee.” She scooted a little closer and lowered her voice, as if to keep even the storm from hearing. “We left London,” she whispered, dark eyes intent on Meredee’s face, “because I fell in love.”

Meredee sucked in a breath. “And your brother disapproved?”

Phoebe nodded vigorously, squashing her curls against the covers. “Assuredly! He insists that my beau is completely beneath me. But I don’t care! I’ll find a way. Love cannot be denied!”

Her voice was rising again, and this time it was Meredee who caught her hand and motioned her with the other to calm herself. “Think about what you’re saying. Your brother loves you, and he’s obviously in
telligent. If he disliked this young man, he may well have had reason.”

Phoebe shook her head. “No reason that I can see.”

“Is he of good family? Can he support you? Is he of good Christian character?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Phoebe exclaimed. “And he is handsome and charming and makes me laugh.”

There could be worse things, Meredee thought. “And does he share your desire to marry?”

Phoebe sighed. “Yes. Perhaps. I think so.” She sat up. “Oh, don’t you see? I’ll never have a chance to find out. And it’s all my brother’s fault!”

Someone rapped on the door.

Phoebe shrank against the headboard as if defeated. “Oh, pooh! That must be Chase. He’s found me.”

“You are not an escaped prisoner,” Meredee reminded her in a whisper. “I’m certain no one will mind if you come bid me good-night.”

The rap came again, louder. “Miss Price?” Lord Allyndale’s voice was unmistakable. “I’m sorry to trouble you. May I have a word?”

Phoebe clutched her arm. “Please don’t make me leave. I want to stay, with you.”

Was that fear in Lady Phoebe’s puckered face? Was her brother so cruel, then? Meredee knew she ought to be glad she’d learned the truth, yet she didn’t want it to be true. She found his company, his smile, his
admiration irresistible. She didn’t want him to be anything less than a man she could admire, too.

But once again, Lady Phoebe’s eyes were large and beseeching. And just as when she’d seen the girl struggling in the sea, Meredee knew she couldn’t ignore her worries. She patted Phoebe’s hand and pulled away.

“Coming!” she called toward the door. Then, to Phoebe, “I’ll only be a moment. Don’t be afraid. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

She thought the girl might protest, but Lady Phoebe merely bit her lip and nodded. Pulling a spare blanket from the foot of the bed, Meredee draped its warmth around her shoulders and padded to the door.

She opened it just wide enough to peer out, but the sight before her made her breath catch. Chase Dearborn had discarded his black coat and now stood in shirtsleeves and waistcoat. The linen draped his broad shoulders; the waistcoat emphasized the solid line of him. Another time he might have looked commanding, but his cravat was carelessly tied and rumpled as if he’d retied it in a hurry, and his blue eyes were every bit as wide as Phoebe’s.

He ran a hand back through his hair, disheveling the sandy locks. “Forgive the interruption. It’s my habit to look in on my sister before I retire. She doesn’t appear to be in her room. Have you seen her?”

She thought she heard a faint rustle behind her,
as if Phoebe had pulled the covers over her head to hide. Was she so concerned about getting caught out of bed? Surely she was too old for strict bedtimes. And Chase did not seem intent on enforcing one. The lines bracketing his eyes and mouth told her he was sincerely worried.