The Counterfeit Mistress (21 page)

She scooted over and stuck her head out the window. The carriage up ahead was a big coach with footmen in livery. She peered into the trees. Perhaps the occupant had needed to relieve himself and the delay would be brief.

One of the footmen walked to the coach's side, then turned and strode toward her carriage. His powdered wig indicated the coach was owned by someone wealthy, even if the size of the equipage had not made that clear enough. The tax on powder for wigs was so high that it had ended that style forever in England. To spend it on servants—

That wig appeared outside her window. The young man wearing it bowed. “My lord requests that you ride with him, Miss Lyon.” He opened the door and set down the stairs, as if her compliance could not be questioned.

Since her own carriage could not move unless she agreed, she stepped out and walked to the big coach. The profile of a man showed in the window. She recognized the straight nose and deep-set dark eyes of the Duke of Penthurst.

Upon seeing her, he moved to the seat behind the coachman. The footman handed her in, set up the stairs, and closed the door. The grand coach moved. She trusted André would follow.

“Did you block this lane for long while you waited for me?” she asked.

“I have been here only an hour.”

“I am flattered, Your Grace. Also disconcerted that you knew I would be traveling this way.”

“Discretion is not one of Kendale's preoccupations. Perhaps he finds it as tedious as he does other social requirements. It was not hard to learn about that cottage.”

“I cannot imagine why you would care to learn about it, let alone waylay me as I left it this morning.”

“Can't you?”

The way he said that, and the way he looked at her, told her much. This was not a man interested in her as a woman, that much was certain. This was no silly little abduction as a romantic game, by a duke trying to steal her from a viscount. Rather this man regarded her with a frankness that both worried her and flattered her.
We are both intelligent people,
those eyes said.
Let us save time and avoid dissembling
.

“No, I can't,” she said finally, although it did not sound convincing to her own ears.

“You sound cautious. You have nothing to fear from me.”

Of course she did. For all of his grace right now, he struck her as a dangerous man. She had some experience in knowing them when she saw them.

“Kendale accepts you are not a spy,” he said.

“You trust his judgment so completely?”

“In the least I accept that if you managed to convince him, you would probably convince me as well. I can think of no man less likely to be swayed, no matter how pretty and charming the liar.”

She wondered what this duke wanted. He had inconvenienced himself to have a conversation with her, but about what? He would tell her soon, so she did not ask.

“That cottage,” he said. “As I said, he is not famous for discretion and it is most discreet in location. I wonder if that is only to create privacy for your rendezvous.”

“I demanded little except privacy.”

“How generous of you. Still, have there been any visitors?”

“No.”

He eyed her. She gazed back impassively.

“As you can see, I have some questions, Miss Lyon, but they are not about you.”

“You must think very little of me if you believe I will take well an interrogation about him.”

“I think that you are a woman who has learned to be practical. Kendale believes you are not a spy and I am inclined to as well. However, the opinion is not unanimous. Should you ever find yourself in the hands of those who still wonder, my friendship will be very useful.”

A bribe more than a threat, but a shiver ran through her anyway.

“Has he ever mentioned Toulon to you?”

Her mind raced to decide her response. To claim ignorance would imply a lack of intimacy with Kendale, and call into question his opinion of her. To tell this duke everything that had been shared would be perhaps a betrayal. Would half a loaf do?

“He said he was there, at the siege. He has some scars from it. He does not speak of it with me, however.”

He nodded vaguely. She had responded correctly.

“Has he spoken to you of a mission or a journey that he is planning?”

The question alarmed her. It would not have been asked unless this man already knew something. “He spoke of visiting his properties sometime, perhaps in summer. I think he believes he has neglected them.”

“No other journey? One more imminent?”

She shook her head and widened her eyes, innocently. “He would have told me if such a thing were going to happen soon, I think. He would not want me to arrive at that cottage only to find myself alone for the night.”

Such a scrutiny she received then. She was well practiced in being interrogated, however, and even a duke's examination did not fluster her.

“He said you and he were friends not so long ago,” she added, to direct this elsewhere. “After you visited Ravenswood, that is what he said.” He had also said that Penthurst might have come to prevent others from coming. Did this duke seek to expose Kendale with all his questions at Ravenswood and now? Or to protect him? And expose what? Protect from what?

“That is true,” he said.

“And yet you are no longer?”

“He holds something against me. I cannot blame him, since I have never explained it.” He rapped on the wall of the coach, and it slowed and stopped. “I will return you to your carriage now.”

The footman set down the stairs, but it was the duke who handed her out. He strolled beside her as they walked back to André. Partway there, he stopped.

“Miss Lyon, I must say something. Forgive me in advance for the words and the implications if they are misplaced.”

She faced him. He smiled, but she sensed a dark intensity at work in him below his amiable surface.

“You should know that despite the estrangement, I still count Kendale as a friend. And I still value his judgment where you are concerned. However, if he is wrong about you and if you do anything to cause harm to come to him because of confidences he has made to you, I will see that you are imprisoned until you are a very old woman.”

With that, he continued escorting her to her carriage.

After the door had closed and Penthurst had walked back to his own coach, André bent and spoke through the little door. “Another lord?”

“Yes. A duke.”

“The first lord will not be happy to know you met the second one.”

“That is true. It would be best if you did not tell him about this.”

“He would expect me to. I was instructed to let him know if anyone interfered with you.”

Rolling her eyes, she opened her reticule and plucked out some coins. André's hand was already waiting at the little opening.

T
wo mornings later, Dominique entered Marielle's bedchamber while she washed for the day. “Two letters came early,” she said, waving them. “Both are very fine paper. One is from him, I am sure.”

Marielle kept her back to Dominique while she closed her eyes and hid her reaction. She had not expected to hear from Kendale again. He would provide the protection he had promised, but the rest—between her deception and her true history—she believed he would now drift away from her.

She finished washing while Dominique sat on the bed holding the letters, impatient to learn what they contained. Finally she reached for them and sat next to her old friend. She broke the seal on Kendale's first.

My dear Marielle,

I expect that journey to happen soon. Within a few days. Preparations have occupied me. I would like to see you before I depart.

You should be receiving an invitation to an event hosted by Ambury's parents, the Duke and Duchess of Highburton. It is as much a celebration of his father's better health as it is one of the Season. Ambury arranged for this invitation when I said I would like to attend with you. I hope you do not find the lateness of its arrival too impolite, and will forgive my interference if you do.

Mr. Pottsward has arranged for the gowns from Ravenswood to be brought up and delivered to you. They should arrive tomorrow. I feel neglectful for not having bought you a new wardrobe as I had planned. Would you have accepted one?

I will call for you at ten that night, unless I receive a letter saying you decline.

Your servant,

Kendale

She lifted the other letter. The paper proved so thick one could cut cold butter with it. Dominique bent over it and examined the seal.

“It is from a duke,” Marielle said while she slid her finger under that impressive seal. “Whoever thought I would receive letters from one?”

Even Dominique, who had known fine papers and seals in her day, was impressed. The secretary's elegant hand flowed over the paper, requesting Marielle's attendance.

“It is a ball,” Dominique said. “And you say Lord Kendale learned the truth of your blood? Perhaps he did not understand.”

“He understood.” Was it possible it did not matter? If so, she should give him a new name. Peculiar Man.

“You must have won his heart, if he wants you at his side at such an affair even knowing your parentage. It is not a place where a lord normally brings the daughter of an engraver.”

“No one else will know I am the daughter of an engraver. Perhaps that makes a difference.”

“It is good that he is sending the gowns. I told you that you needed a better wardrobe now.”

Word spread in the house that she was attending a ball. Dominique, who normally kept her own counsel, confided in Madame LaTour. Madame confided in her two best friends. They passed the news to others. By noon all the women knew and it was the talk of the studio.

They all peppered her with advice. The next day a larger than normal number of ladies came to work. When the gowns arrived all painting stopped while Madame LaTour held up the likely choices so all could comment and give opinions.

Consensus settled on an ivory satin gown with silver threaded embroidery all around the lower part of the skirt. One of the ladies removed some silk flowers from another gown and proceeded to fashion a headdress.

No one went home that evening. Some helped her bathe. Others helped her dress. Still others hovered while discreet, artful painting enhanced her eyes and lips. Marielle felt like a bride being prepared for her wedding with all these handmaidens chattering around, laughing and increasing the excitement.

Finally, all was done. She stood to a group evaluation. Most of the eyes glinted with joy. A few did not, notably the ones owned by Madame LaTour.

“No jewels. Surely someone has something we can use.” She patted her upper chest which, on Marielle, displayed nothing but skin. “You are so lovely many will not care, but the vacancy will be noted.”

“Will this do?” Dominique asked. She held out a little box.

Madame LaTour opened it. Her eyes widened. “Is this yours, Madame Beltrand? It is very fine.”

“I wish it were mine. It was delivered today, while Marielle bathed. A footman came with it.”

“Ah, it is from him, Marielle. Look, look.” Madame LaTour held up the necklace of finely worked gold. From the delicate chain a pendant hung with diamonds set in a gold filigree field. She came over and clasped it around Marielle's neck.

Marielle looked down on the jewel. Kendale had chosen well. This appeared costly without calling so much attention to itself as to be gauche.

The sounds of the coach arriving could be heard through the window, attended by the sounds of the lane reacting to its arrival. Dominique hurried down to the door.

Instinctively Marielle reached for her dark Venetian shawl.

“Not today, mam'selle,” Madame LaTour scolded, snatching it away. She held out in its place a soft wrap of raw silk that had come with the other garments. A pale primrose, it added a nice splash of subdued color to her ensemble. All was complete when one of the women pulled a pair of silk slippers from a little sac she had brought.

Madame LaTour tweaked at her hair, pinched at her cheeks, rubbed at her lips while chanting instructions about comportment when meeting the duke and duchess. “Be proud, Marielle. Such people do not respect the demure and docile.”

Marielle hugged her, then gazed at the sparkling eyes of the women who had helped her prepare. She was going to a ball and, in their minds, all of them were going with her.

“Y
ou are determined to be the subject of gossip, I see,” Southwaite said while he looked to the clutch of women five feet away.

Kendale had just arrived, and Cassandra and Emma had taken Marielle aside to admire her and to point out various notables in the crowd. Feminine fingers aimed here and there while Cassandra whispered in Marielle's ear.

“Surely there is better gossip to be had than me.” He found it hard to keep his eyes off Marielle. Her beauty astonished him tonight. He might have appeared normal when she walked down the stairs at her house, but inside he had been gawking the way the children did on the lane when his coach rolled up.

“Not much,” Ambury said. “I warned you that it would be like this. No one thought you would ever pursue a woman, or have a liaison, so this is of great interest. I am only sorry that I did not lay down bets on the matter when I suspected something was afoot.”

“Nor have you been especially discreet,” Southwaite said.

“I have been very discreet. Not as discreet as you would have been, but far more so than Ambury here. It is not as if I was seen leaving her home in the middle of the night.”

Southwaite enjoyed Ambury's discomfort on that. “Do not worry,” he said. “Soon some young man will get caught doing something inappropriate with some girl, and you will be forgotten.”

He shrugged. “If they gossip, I can't stop that. Nor do I care.” He did not give a damn what anyone said. Let the gossip fly.

The two of them exchanged glances.

“That necklace looks expensive,” Ambury said. “It suits her. Did you choose it yourself?”

“I did. Do you approve?”

“I think it is handsome,” Southwaite said. “I am trying to picture it, however. You at a jeweler's shop, poring over baubles. Try as I might—” He shook his head.

“He probably did it in his Kendale way,” Ambury said. “He visited the first jeweler he saw once he had made up his mind, peered at three or four items, picked one, and was out in five minutes.”

“Do you think he had decided on a necklace before he went? Or just stumbled into it?”

“Stumbled. Jewelers know his sort. They aim high, assuming the gentleman will not bother to ask to see more in his haste to be done with the chore.”

“Well it is much more attractive than I would have expected from him. Who would have guessed that Kendale had an eye for artistic design.”

That continued on like that. He preened like an idiot at the evidence that he had not condemned Marielle to wearing jewelry that no woman would want. He had not done it in “his Kendale way” at all. It had taken him over an hour to choose that necklace while he suffered bouts of unaccustomed indecision.

The lights in her eyes when she thanked him had made it worth every minute and every shilling. Thus, he supposed, did the wrong kind of woman lead a man to ruin. He was damned lucky she was not that sort or he might be doomed.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I think I will ask a lovely lady to dance.”

They glanced at each other, then stared at him. Southwaite placed a politely restraining hand on his arm. “Do you know how to dance? I am aware that you have seen it often enough, and probably assume that through force of will and intellect alone you can imitate that which you have seen, but it is more difficult than it appears.”

“Army officers dance all the time.”

“In general they do. The question is whether
you
do. I have never once seen you dance, Kendale. Not once. Not even when we were of an age when dancing was the only way to touch a woman, and even that through two levels of gloves.”

“That I did not choose to dance does not mean that I did not know how to dance.”

“You cannot know how to dance if you never have danced. There is an element of practice. There are men who know how to shoot a gun but their aim is horrible and they are better off never shooting. It is much the same with dancing.”

“It is embarrassing if you get the steps wrong,” Ambury hastened to add. “Your spoken faux pas of the past will be nothing compared to the scene if you trip up a whole line of dancers by hopping right when you should hop back.”

“I do not know what I would do without the two of you mothering me like I had hatched out of an egg yesterday. Now, excuse me.”

He walked over to the ladies and asked Marielle to dance. The other ladies appeared shocked. Cassandra gestured for Ambury and mouthed something that might have been,
For goodness' sake, stop him.

“Why are they so astonished?” Marielle asked, looking back over her shoulder while he led her to take a place in the line.

“I cannot imagine.”

“Emma is twisting her hands together.”

“It might be better if you pay attention to this rather than to her. I am told that precision matters. We do not want to knock anyone over.”

She laughed. The sweet woman thought he had made a joke.

The music started. The steps unfolded. He trusted his mind to call up their order from the hours of enforced practice when he was a boy. Between that and keeping a close eye on the fellow next to him, he managed well enough with only a few, barely noticeable missteps.

When it was their turn to walk down the line, Marielle favored him with one of her sparkling, coquettish smiles. “You do this very well, Lord Kendale. I would not have expected you to be a dancer.”

“I have never called myself one, that is certain.”

“You do not enjoy dancing?”

“I do tonight. Do you?”

“Very much.”

That delighted him. He even enjoyed it himself a bit after that. The next time they passed together, her smile held less mockery and a good deal of warmth. “You do not normally dance, do you? You are doing this for me.”

“Nonsense. I am euphoric with pleasure.”

“When was the last time you danced?”

“A while ago. A few years.” He had to laugh at her skeptical expression. “Twelve years.”

The music ended. He bowed to her curtsy. Supporting her hand he returned her to the ladies. Cassandra could not leave well enough alone.

“You amaze us all, Lord Kendale. Who ever guessed that your refusal to conform to social niceties really did derive from scorn, rather than incompetence.”

“Are you saying you feel bad that I never asked you to dance, Lady Ambury? I imagine that I could keep this up for one more turn, and make amends, if you like.”

“Oh, dear, what a disappointment, Ambury has claims on the next one.” She turned her head this way and that. “Where has he gone to?”

“I will find him and remind him of his obligation.”

He set off to do just that, lest he find himself doing a country-dance under Cassandra's critical eye. Spying Ambury by the far wall, he made his way there.

Two other heads came into view as he neared. Southwaite and Penthurst. Whatever conversation they held did not appear a pleasant one. All three expressions looked stone serious.

Penthurst excused himself and walked away. Kendale joined his friends. Southwaite wore the smile that never boded well.

“Have we just been scolded, Ambury, or warned?” he said through a tight smile.

“I choose to think the latter, but I cannot disagree there was some scold in there too.” Ambury moved slightly to accommodate Kendale's presence into what became a tight little group around which the crowd milled. “Be glad you chose to dance, Kendale. If you had been here, I worry there would have been fisticuffs in the garden by now.”

“I can still challenge him and thrash him, if you want. Has there been a turn off the road to reconciliation?”

Southwaite looked around, then gestured for them to follow him. They strode out onto the terrace and down into the garden. Even after finding privacy within a boxwood-hemmed circle of benches, he spoke lowly.

“He informed us that we are the subject of suspicions in both the Home Office and the War Office.”

“Surely they do not think you are disloyal.”

Ambury threw up his hands in exasperation. “Hardly. What a mind you have. It is the opposite. There has always been discomfort with that network of watchers on the coast, and now they worry we are planning something more intrusive.”

“How irrational of them.”

“Not entirely, of course,” Ambury said. “I told you, Southwaite, that our little excursion to France last year would not remain a secret. Now whenever there are whispers of other such missions, all eyes turn to us.”