The Pretenders (12 page)

My heart began to hammer in my chest.

There was something not quite right about this man, I thought. Why should he hate me so intensely when he didn’t even know me? For it was hatred that was fueling his interest in me; of that I was suddenly certain.

At last we reached the house, and I went in through the back door, trying not to look as if I were hurrying. It was five-thirty, and the rest of the house party had returned from their various afternoon activities and were getting ready for dinner. Gratefully, I turned my back on Robert and ran up the stairs to my room to change my clothes.

The house party always gathered in the rear drawing room at six-thirty before we went in to dinner. This evening, as Mama and I entered the elegant white-and-gold room, with its crystal chandelier, white-satin-covered furniture and gilt wall mirrors, the atmosphere was very different from what it had been for the last week or so.

Reeve and Robert stood on opposite sides of the room from each other, but the antagonism between them was so powerful that it shivered through the air.

Lady Sophia looked angry.

Harry looked resigned.

Sally looked distressed.

Lord Bradford looked stoic.

The Nortons were trying to look as if they noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

I felt Mama glance nervously at me.

As soon as he saw us, Lord Bradford stepped forward. “Miss Woodly, Mrs. Woodly, allow me to present my eldest son, Mr. Robert Lambeth.”

Robert came across the room to bow over our hands.

“How do you do,” I said woodenly, as he took my fingers into his large, powerful grip. Neither of us said anything about our earlier meeting at the stable.

Robert might not be overly tall, but everything about him was powerful. Menacing, almost.

Once more I saw that glint of violence in his eyes.

Across the room, I could see Reeve scowl ferociously.

Now that all of us were present, we went into the dining room.

Everyone kept up a good pretense that all was normal during dinner. I noticed that Lady Sophia had put Robert and Reeve as far away from each other as was possible, and Robert conversed with Mary Ann Norton with at least a semblance of politeness. After dinner was over, and the ladies retired to the drawing room leaving the gentlemen to themselves, I was afraid that things would get more dangerous, but when the men joined us in the drawing room, tense courtesy reigned, at least on the surface.

It didn’t take long for Reeve to snag me for a walk in the garden. I went with alacrity, feeling Robert’s gaze burn into my back as we left the drawing room to go along to the morning room and thence out the French doors into the garden.

We walked for a while in silence until we reached the stone bench on the side of the yew arch, where, with wordless communication, we sat down side by side. I turned to Reeve and said forcefully, “What a thoroughly unpleasant man your cousin is!”

“He hates me,” Reeve replied.

“Why?” I demanded.

He sighed. “I rather think it’s because he thinks I am standing in the way of what he regards as being rightfully his. You see, Deb, Bernard is my heir. And after Bernard, of course, comes Robert.”

I frowned, trying to make sense of this statement. At last I said in bewilderment, “But surely Robert cannot be so foolish as to think that you will not marry and have sons of your own to inherit the title?”

Reeve picked up a yellow rose that someone had dropped next to the bench and began to strip the petals off it one by one. The rich scent of the mutilated flower drifted through the summer air. He said, “You see, after the… accident… I think Robert actually convinced himself that I never
would
marry, that one day he would really be the Earl of Cambridge.”

My heart cramped at his mention of the accident but I managed to say steadily, “That’s a ridiculous assumption, of course, but even if it were true, Reeve, you and Robert are the same age. Why should he think that he would live to succeed you?”

Reeve stripped another few petals off the unfortunate rose. He did not meet my eyes as he said, “Accidents happen, Deb, and I have suspected for a while that Robert might be planning an accident for me. Of course, now that he thinks I am going to marry, and will perhaps have a son to displace him, his incentive to do away with me will only be increased.”

I stared at him in horror. “My God, Reeve. Haven’t you done anything about this?”

He threw the rose to the ground. “What can I do, Deb? Tell Bernard that I suspect his son of wishing to arrange my death?” He shrugged. “And who knows? Perhaps I deserve whatever Robert has in mind.”

And so we were back to it again.

The accident. The never-ending guilt.

“Your mother would not think that way,” I said positively.

“No. Mother was an angel. She would never think ill of me, no matter what I did.” His voice was sad and bitter all at once.

I did not know how to answer him. The corrosive guilt he had lived with for so many years had become so much a part of him that words alone would never free him from it.

What had happened to Reeve was this. At the age of fifteen, he had been driving with his mother from London to Ambersley in the Cambridge town chaise. Being young and enthusiastic, Reeve had begged Lady Cambridge to allow Mm to take the reins of the chaise, which was a much larger and heavier vehicle than the phaetons he was used to driving around the Ambersley estate.

Lady Cambridge, a loving and far too indulgent parent, had agreed.

The coachman, who knew Reeve had never before driven on the road, had objected, but he had not been able to gainsay his employer.

Reeve was going too fast when he met a cart on a blind turn. He pulled his horses too far to the right in order to avoid it, and overturned the chaise in a ditch. It was an ugly accident, as the carriage had turned over several times before coming to rest at the bottom. Lady Cambridge and the coachman had been thrown from the vehicle. Lady Cambridge’s neck had been broken, and she had died instantly, while the coachman had suffered internal injuries and lived for another few days.

Reeve had broken his arm.

It was a tragedy, of course. A tragedy for Lady Cambridge, a beautiful and loving woman who had been cut down in the middle of her thirties; a tragedy for the coachman, who had left a wife and two small children. And it had been a tragedy for Reeve, who had been left to bear the guilt of it all.

The fact that Lord Cambridge had never forgiven Reeve had not helped Reeve to be able to forgive himself. His father blamed him for the death of the wife he had loved, and Reeve blamed himself for the death of his mother.

I had often thought that if Reeve’s father had shown him any sort of compassion, if he had admitted to Reeve that part of the blame for the accident had lain with Lady.

Cambridge’s folly in permitting a half-grown boy to drive a vehicle he should never have been allowed to touch, then the accident would not have had so destructive an effect on Reeve’s character.

But Lord Cambridge had labeled his son as reckless and irresponsible, and Reeve had done his damnedest to live up to his father’s image of him. The result, of course, had been that wretched will and the extension of Reeve’s minor status five years beyond what was the ordinary age.

I sat next to him now and looked at his hand, which was lying palm up on his thigh, and impulsively I reached over and laid my hand over it. His fingers closed around my wrist and he turned to look at me.

For some reason, my heartbeat increased.

I said fiercely, “Don’t you dare let that horrible man do anything to you.”

A faint smile glimmered in his eyes. His fingers increased their pressure on my wrist, and he pulled me closer to him. He said, “Would you really miss me that much, Deb?”

My heartbeat grew faster and louder. I was acutely conscious of his thigh so close to mine.

The smell of the crushed rose was strong in my nostrils.

This is all wrong
, I thought in confusion. /
should not be feeling like this about Reeve
.

His fingers were on my wrist, and I was afraid that he would feel the hammering of my pulse. I tried to pall my hand away, but he held on to it.

The sound of voices came to us through the summer night. Reeve lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the inside of my wrist, where my pulse beat, before he stood to greet Sally and Edmund Norton.

The four of us stood talking for a while and then we all returned to the house for evening tea.

I USUALLY SLEPT LIKE A BABY, BUT THAT NIGHT I
lay awake for a long time before I went to sleep.

What was happening between Reeve and me? It was as if this pretend engagement had knocked our old friendship out of its comfortable path and pushed us onto a new road that I was not at all sure that I liked.

I had never in my life felt uncertain with Reeve. His dark, romantic splendor had been a fact in my life for so long that I never thought it could exercise a pull on my senses.

In short, I was thoroughly upset by my reaction to him in the garden. And he had only held my hand!

At last I drifted off to sleep to dream a disturbing dream where I was riding through a dark, enclosing forest. Something evil was pursuing me, but I didn’t know what it was. I awoke in a sweat and couldn’t get back to sleep again.

I lay awake thinking gloomily that I would make a beautiful sight with dark circles under my eyes for the dance that evening.

When finally morning crawled around and
I
we at
down to
breakfast, it was to find that Harry had taken Reeve into Chichester to look at a horse Harry was purportedly thinking of buying.

I thought the purpose of the trip was more likely to keep Reeve separated from Robert for the day.

After breakfast, Lady Sophia ensconced herself in the morning room, from whence she issued orders about readying the house for the influx of guests that were expected for the evening’s dance. Mrs. Norton, Mama, and I were her minions, and the three of us worked like Trojans to make sure that the guest bedrooms were prepared properly, the cook was ready to serve twenty persons at dinner and forty more at supper, that there would be tea and coffee served at supper as well as lemonade and champagne, that card tables were set up in the rear drawing room, that the furniture in the long gallery was removed so that there could be dancing, and that chairs were set up along the walls for those who wished to watch.

Mary Ann and Sally were given the job of looking for the arrival of the musicians.

Acting upon Lady Sophia’s orders, all of the men made themselves scarce for the duration of the day.

“Most useless things in the world, men,” she muttered as she sent her female slaves scurrying here and there. ”They only get in one’s way whenever anything important needs to be done.”

“Come now, ma’am,” Mrs. Norton said good-humoredly, “they must have some uses.”

“Not when it comes to putting on a dance,” Lady Sophia snapped.

By three o’clock, the house was in order, and by five o’clock the first of the guests who had been invited to remain overnight at Wakefield began to appear. Lord.

Bradford and Lady Sophia greeted them, while Mama and I remained upstairs to get ready for the great occasion.

I wore one of my London dresses, a high-waisted, white-satin ball dress with a strand of pearls, which Reeve had bought me, clasped around my throat. Susan did my hair in a twist with white roses tucked into it. Mama wore blue and looked like an angel.

My brother would be coming this evening with the Swales, and though I tried to tell myself that I didn’t care one iota about seeing him again, I knew it wasn’t true.

All of the relationships that had been the basis of my life for so long—my friendship with Reeve, my hatred of my brother—were changing, and I didn’t like it. It made me feel as if I were losing a grip on my world.

I wished fervently that I had never agreed to this pretend engagement in the first place.

When Mama and I both were ready we went down the carved-oak staircase to the rear drawing room, where we found the guests who were to spend the night at Wakefield gathered, along with the family and the Nor-tons. As we came into the room, my eyes instinctively looked for Reeve.

He was standing in front of the fireplace talking to a red-haired woman I didn’t know. He wore a dark coat,” an intricately tied cravat and satin knee breeches that fairly molded themselves to his slim hips and long legs.

Across the width of the drawing room, his eyes met mine.

His eyebrows lifted in a gesture of resignation.

I smiled.

Then I looked for Robert.

He was standing along the left wall of the room, with his back to the door, talking to a black-haired young lady who seemed extremely vivacious.

Lady Sophia, attired in purple satin and wearing a formidable array of diamonds on her withered bosom, was standing directly under the crystal chandelier talking to an elderly gentleman with a startlingly bald head, which glistened in the light of the many candles above it.

“My dear Lady Sophia,” said the bald-pated man in the loud tone of those who are partially deaf, “who is the beauty in the doorway?”

As she turned to look at me, the expression on Lady Sophia’s face was exceedingly sour. “That is Miss Woodly, my nephew Cambridge’s intended bride,” she replied.

I saw Lord Bradford crossing the room toward us. “Miss Woodly, Mrs. Woodly,” he said. “You must allow me to introduce you to some of our friends.”

We made the rounds of the drawing room, smiling and greeting a collection of people whose names and faces I worked hard to commit to memory. While we were doing this, the guests who lived in the immediate neighborhood began to arrive.

One of these guests was my brother.

I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes as I stood talking to two of the overnight visitors, Viscount Morley and his wife. In his formal evening dress, Richard looked handsome and elegant and well-bred; just the sort of young man, in fact, that every parent hoped his daughter would bring home.

Familiar, cleansing anger swept through me at the thought.

I know I didn’t make a sound, but something must have showed on my face, for Viscount Morley gave me a startled look, and asked, “Is anything wrong, Miss Woodly?”

I forced a smile and assured him that everything was perfectly fine.

Shortly after that it was time to go in to dinner.

Ordinarily Mama and I, as the widow and daughter of a baron, would not command the escort of either of the two earls (one of whom was Reeve) or the two viscounts who were present. However, as this evening was in effect being held in our honor, our status was elevated, and I found myself being escorted by the Earl of Merivale while Reeve took in Mama.

Dinner seemed to go on for a very long time. Robert, who was at the other end of the table from Reeve, conversed with grim-faced politeness with Charlotte Henley.

Once or twice I caught Lord Bradford shooting a worried glance in Robert’s direction, and I thought that it must severely tax the patience of his family to have to treat him continually like a dog they were afraid was going to bite.

As we slowly ate our way through the turtle soup, salmon, roasted capon, ham, a haunch of venison, plus a huge assortment of side dishes, I made conversation with Lord Bradford, who sat on one side of me, and with the amiable Lord Austin, who was seated on my other side.

After the ice cream and fruit had been served, the ladies retired to the long gallery. It did not take long be-fore we were joined by the gentlemen, and shortly after that the musicians struck up the first dance.

Ordinarily the honor of leading off the first dance would fall to the Countess of Merivale, but tonight Reeve bowed before me, took my hand, and led me out to the floor. The rest of the party formed up after us, and, when the set was filled, the gentlemen bowed, the ladies curtsied, and the dance officially began.

As the evening progressed, I danced with a succession of smiling, good-natured men, both young and middle-aged, and about halfway through the dance I realized that this party was not at all unlike the local dances I had attended with Mama at home. The clothing was much more elegant, of course, and the social status of the guests more elevated, but the same kind of friendliness and good humor prevailed.

I was actually enjoying myself.

Then my brother asked me to dance.

I did not want to dance with him, but I could not say so in front of all these people. So I gave him my hand in silence and allowed him to lead me to the floor.

The top of my head only came up to his mouth. He was as tall as Reeve.

“Well it’s clear to see that they’re brother and sister”

The words came, loud and clear, from the deaf bald-headed man who was sitting next to Lady Sophia on one of the gilt chairs that lined the walls of the long gallery.

My fingers, which were clasped within Richard’s, stiffened.

He looked down into my face, and said gravely, “My uncle will be coming to visit the Swales within the next few days, and I want you to know, Deborah, that I am going to demand that he give me an explanation for his treatment of you and your mother.”

The music began and we bowed to each other.

I said, “No explanation can erase eighteen years of injustice.”

“I realize…“ Before he could complete his sentence, however, the dance swept him away from me.

“I would like to talk to you after I have seen him,” Richard said, when the motions of the dance had brought us back together once more.

“I have nothing to talk to you about,” I returned contemptuously.

The dance separated us again.

“I think you owe it to your mother to see me,” he said when we were once more joined together. ”You are right when you say that injustice cannot be erased, but it can be rectified.”

I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to take anything from him. But he was right. If he was willing to give Mama a more substantial allowance, I had no right to do anything that would stand in the way of her receiving it.

I clenched my teeth. “All right,” I said just before the steps of the dance separated us again.

After the dance was over, he walked me back to where Mama was standing with Lord Bradford. “I will call upon you after I have spoken to my uncle,” he said. A touch of steel came into his voice. “I can assure you, Deborah, that I am very interested in hearing what he has to say about all of this.”

He could not be more interested man I, I thought, as.

I watched him bow to Mama and ask her to dance. She accepted with a warm smile.

It seemed to me that Mama was far too pleased to see her negligent stepson again.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Woodly?” Lord Bradford asked me genially.

“Yes, my lord,” I replied. ”Everyone has been very kind.”

The music was starting for the next dance, and I heard someone come up on my other side.

“May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Woodly?” Robert Lambeth asked.

I glanced quickly at Lord Bradford to see if he would rescue me by claiming that he had asked me first.

He looked at his eldest son, frowned, and said nothing.

I said woodenly, “Of course, Mr. Lambeth,” and allowed Robert to lead me to the floor.

It was a country dance, not a quadrille, thank God, and to all intents and purposes we were just another couple going up and down the line, hands joined, smiles on our lips. The only difference was that Lord Bradford stood on one side of the room watching us, and Reeve stood, shoulders against the wall, arms crossed, on the other.

Robert knew he was being watched.

He laughed when we came together for a minute, and said, “Do you feel like one of the Sabine women, Deborah?”

I didn’t know who the Sabine women were, but I could deduce that their fate had not been a happy one.

I looked him straight in the eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The shutters that veiled his eyes with the semblance of civilization lifted for a minute, and I could see into the violence that lurked beneath. “Ask Reeve,” he said. “He’ll tell you.”

I went in to supper with Reeve and Harry and Mary Ann Norton. There had been one long table set up in the center of the front drawing room, and around it were placed several smaller tables. The four of us filled our plates from the lavish display of food along the wall and took one of the smaller tables.