Sandra Heath (6 page)

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Treasury gold, bogles,
and
French spies sending signals? I was expecting my sojourn at Mulborough Abbey to be quiet!” Suddenly he turned sharply toward Jane, as if he knew she was there, but to her relief he clearly saw nothing.

“What is it?” Russell asked uneasily.

“I’m not really sure, I just had the strangest feeling someone was behind me.”

“Imagination, dear boy.” Russell gave a nervous laugh.

“In abundance, it would seem.” Marcus looked at him again. “How is Charlotte taking all this?”

“Stoically.”

“I trust she’s blossoming well?”

Russell nodded. “She’s never looked lovelier, and is becoming impatient for the great day to come. I was about to write to you, actually, for it would please me greatly if you would be a godparent.”

Marcus returned the grin. “I’ll be honored.”

“I trust I’ll one day soon be able to return the compliment. By the way, what exactly does bring you here? I was under the impression you were staying on with your Scottish relatives until March.”

“I just felt like making my way home to Kent.”

Jane could tell this wasn’t the truth, and wondered what his real reason could be.

“Surely Bramnells is closed for the winter?” Russell replied, thinking of Marcus’ vast ancestral estate high on the cliffs near the town of Deal.

“Closed, but not unaired.”

“I trust that doesn’t mean your stay with us is only going to be an overnight affair?”

“I thought a week or so, if that’s all right?”

“You know it is.” Russell hesitated. “Actually, there’s one thing you should know. Henrietta Courtenay is here.”

“Really?”

To Jane’s disappointment, Marcus seemed unmoved. She wanted a reaction, any reaction, just to show he wasn’t indifferent.

Russell cleared his throat. “You’re bound to see a great deal of her. Everyone else leaves in the morning, but she’s staying on until sometime in February, when she has to be in London for her cousin’s wedding.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Yes, but will she?”

“That is a question only the future Lady Sutherton can answer, but I doubt my presence will impinge greatly upon her, er, sensitivity.”

Russell was curious. “May I be inquisitive?”

“Would it make any difference if I said no?”

“Not really,” Russell admitted disarmingly. “It’s just that I can’t help wondering what happened between you two. I mean, I know this damned foolish family feud has been going for centuries, but even so—”

“Only one century,” Marcus corrected him.

“Very well, one century.”

“There’s nothing between Henrietta Courtenay and me; indeed I hardly know her.”

Jane’s hopes were dashed. Had Marcus affected to stifle a yawn, he could not have been more lukewarm.

Russell persisted. “All I know is that Henrietta’s opinion of you is apparently most detrimental, not that she has ever elaborated on anything, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Marcus murmured dryly.

“Look, Marcus, of all the Courtenays, she is the one I would least expect to form adverse opinions without provocation.”

“The implication being that I must have done something heinous?”

Russell was in a cleft stick. “I, er, didn’t quite mean that—

“No? My dear Russell, you may consider her to be eligible for sanctity, but I certainly do not. There endeth the lesson.” Marcus looked him square in the eyes.

Russell felt a little uncomfortable. “As you wish, but...”

“Yes?”

“I would be grateful if you’d forget the damned feud for a while, and at least be civil to her. Charlotte is already distressed by all the mishaps that have befallen her since arriving here, and...”

“Mishaps?”

“Yes. Henrietta herself tries to make light of it, but given Charlotte’s present condition, I’m anxious that she should relax.”

“You may rest assured that Charlotte will not suffer any distress because of me.” Marcus smiled a little, and then changed the subject. “Who else is here?”

Russell reeled off a list of names and added at the end, “Oh, and Amabel Renchester, although I’m not aware if you know her.”

“Oh, yes, we’re, er, acquainted. I first met her just before she and Renchester left for the Peninsula. I’m surprised she’s here. Don’t tell me she and Charlotte have settled their differences after all this time?”

Russell sighed. “Well, the truth is that Charlotte and Amabel haven’t settled anything; indeed we didn’t invite her, Henrietta decided to bring her.”

“How very thoughtful.” Marcus shivered. “I trust this cold relents soon, for I vow it’s enough to freeze the very sea.” A thought struck him. “Has this harbor ever frozen?”

“It has been known, although not in my lifetime. Don’t fret, the
Avalon
is in no danger.”

“Good, but right now I’m more concerned about my own precious hide. Does the hospitality of Mulborough Abbey await, or are we to stand here all night?”

“You know the abbey is always at your disposal, but what of your luggage? There is a ball in progress, and—

“And I am suitably garbed,” Marcus interrupted, flicking his cloak aside to reveal superb evening clothes beneath. “The rest will be brought ashore in a while.”

Russell grinned. “You never fail to amaze me, Marcus. Come on, then.” They ascended the steps and crossed the deserted quay to the customs house, where Marcus snuffed the torch against the wall as Russell untethered the waiting horses.

As the two men rode off into the snow, Kit looked at Jane, who had joined him at the top of the steps. “Well? Does my Fitzpaine descendant pass muster as far as you’re concerned?”

“I fear not.”

Kit was surprised. “But you were quite set on it when we left the abbey.”

“The Marquess of Rothwell is a book with some disturbingly secret pages,” she replied, taking Rowley from him.

“He and Henrietta appear to offer our only hope this time,” he reminded her.

“I know, but he seems completely uninterested in her. I confess I think they are poles apart, and will remain so.”

“Poles apart? Dearest, where is your usually infallible perception? Even I could see that he was as sensitive to every mention of her as she was to him! Besides, he is my very twin, even to our shared liking for sailing, so at heart he
must
be a good fellow. There’s much to do, I grant you, but I think he and Henrietta Courtenay have definite possibilities.”

New hope stirred through Jane. “Oh, Kit, do you really think so?”

“Of course.” Kit put an arm around her and pulled her close to kiss her on the lips. At the same time, unseen by Jane, he clamped his other hand firmly around Rowley’s muzzle.

Chapter Six

Meanwhile at the abbey, the ball had resumed. A country dance was in progress, and Charlotte and Henrietta stood at the edge of the floor. Henrietta would have preferred to retire to her room now that Marcus was in the offing, but Charlotte was determined that she should remain.

“You have to face him sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner,” she declared firmly. “Please steel yourself, because once the first moment is over, the rest will be easier.”

“Charlotte, you’ve never behaved as shockingly as I did, so how can you possibly know? Marcus will no doubt find it amusing to whisper the tale to his relatives, and before long it will be all around the ball!” Henrietta felt sick with trepidation.

“Don’t be silly. If he intended to spread the tale, it would have been all over London by the time your parents returned from looking after your aunt. He didn’t say a word, did he?”

“Well, not that I know of, but—

“No buts. He didn’t say anything, and that’s the end of it.”

Henrietta fell silent, and when the country dance came to an end, she was claimed by her uncle, Thomas Courtenay—he who’d been raiding the punch bowl—for the polonaise that followed. If she hoped this would prove a distraction from Marcus Fitzpaine, she was disappointed, for her uncle knew who was responsible for the fireworks. “Another damned Fitzpaine, eh?” he declared as he and his niece came together in the dance.

“It—it would seem so, Uncle Courtenay.”

“Damned scoundrels, all of them.”

“Yes, Uncle Courtenay.”

“Are you acquainted with him?”

She hesitated, and then fibbed. “No, Uncle.”

“See it remains so.”

“I can hardly embarrass Charlotte and Russell by refusing to be introduced,” she pointed out.

“Hmph,” he grunted disparagingly.

It was as the polonaise came to an end that Russell and Marcus entered the ballroom. Marcus was recognized immediately, and there was rapturous applause, for fireworks were a rare and costly diversion, and everyone appreciated the magnificent display given from the decks of the
Avalon.
The orchestra began to play the minuet from Handel’s “Music for the Royal Fireworks,” and sets began to quickly form, so that soon the floor was a crush of dancers.

Charlotte hastened to greet her new guest. “Marcus! Oh, Marcus, how good it is to see you again!” she cried, hugging him as best she could now that her shape was so vastly changed.

He smiled and kissed her warmly on the cheek. “Charlotte, my dearest, you are positively aglow! Approaching motherhood suits you!”

“Why, thank you, sir.” Charlotte glanced surreptitiously around, hoping to spot Henrietta so that a meeting could be engineered without further ado, but there was no sign of her.

Marcus spoke again. “I’ve presumed somewhat upon your hospitality, but trust you will endure me for a week or so?”

“You have no need to ask, for Mulborough’s doors are always open to you.”

He looked at the crowded floor. “Charlotte, will you favor me with this dance?” he asked.

She gave a rueful smile. “I trust you will not be offended if I decline, but I’ve danced sufficiently tonight to put my ankles in imminent danger of swelling. Such disagreeable things, swollen ankles. Very unfeminine.”

Marcus laughed. “Your ankles would remain delightful no matter how swollen they became.”

“Your charm never ceases to amaze me, sir. How is it that you have yet to race home in the marriage stakes?”

“My heart has to be engaged, Charlotte, and what other woman is there now you have been claimed?”

“More
charm? La, sir, my head and ankles are likely to swell simultaneously!”

Marcus spent the next few minutes in conversation with her, and after that with various relatives, but then Amabel caught his eye as she quickly threaded through the crush at the edge of the ballroom. He excused himself from his relatives and followed her. Jane and Kit, who had only just returned from Mulborough, followed as well, being careful all the while to look out for Henrietta.

Marcus caught up with Amabel by the archway into the cloisters. “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Renchester. Now what brings you to Mulborough?”

She met his eyes, and then walked out into the cold of the cloisters, where she turned and waited to face him. He followed, and closed the door behind him, but Jane and Kit managed to slip through in time with Rowley. The noise of the ball immediately became muffled, and the quiet of the cloisters seemed to press close. The glow from the lanterns in the quadrangle showed Amabel quite clearly. As the ghosts came into close proximity with her, Jane was again conscious of the unpleasant atmosphere surrounding her. Charlotte’s whiff of sulfur.

Amabel’s voice echoed around the stonework. “Well, Lord Rothwell, what an agreeable surprise.”

“Is it? I confess I’m astonished you should feel that way. I’m equally surprised you should leave London and all its, er, attractions.”

“No matter what you may think, I’m here to make my peace with Charlotte.”

“There’s more than just snow flying through the air at the moment. In fact I distinctly hear grunting,” he remarked dryly.

“You misjudge me, Marcus.”

Jane’s ears sharpened. Marcus? They were on first-name terms?

Marcus gave a short laugh. “Misjudge you? I think not, Amabel, for how is it possible to misjudge a widow who flaunted bright colors almost the day after her husband’s funeral?”

“Would you have me wear black for the passing of a traitor?”

“If traitor he was.”

“It was proven,” she declared.

“So it’s said.”

Amabel raised her chin. “And what brings you here to Mulborough, sirrah? The society of your dear friends. Lord and Lady Mulborough? Or is it perhaps because of Henrietta Courtenay?”

“Why should my actions have anything to do with her?”

“Because you had a liaison with her, and maybe hope it will resume.”

He became very still. “How did you know that?”

“She told me in London just after it happened.”

Jane and Kit exchanged glances, for Henrietta insisted to Charlotte that she had never mentioned it to anyone.

Marcus studied Amabel in the lantern light. “Well, Sutherton’s timely arrival on the scene is now fully explained. He learned through you.”

“Sutherton learned nothing from me; indeed I hardly know him.”

“Now I hear the flapping of porcine wings,” he replied dryly.

She shrugged. “Believe what you will, I know I’m telling the truth.”

“You and the truth don’t even share a common language,” he answered.

Her eyes flickered. “All I’m concerned about now is that it is definitely over between you and Henrietta.”

“Of what possible interest could that be to you?”

“Simply that it means there is hope for me.”

He was startled. “You?”

“Charlotte is not the only one with whom I wish to make my peace, sir, and your presence here is an opportunity I do not intend to squander,” she said softly, stepping closer and putting a tender hand to his cheek.

Jane looked daggers at her, for this wasn’t what was wanted at all. Marcus and
Amabel?
Oh, dear me, no!

Amabel smiled, and her rose perfume filled the air as she drew a seductive fingertip across Marcus’ lips.”Do you remember what pleasure we once shared?”

Jane’s dismay intensified. They’d been lovers in the past? This became worse by the moment!

“How well you play the temptress, Amabel,” Marcus said softly.