A Secret Love (22 page)

“Of course she's too timid! Rupert wouldn't know what to do with her—and she certainly wouldn't know what to do with
him
.”

Alathea hid a smile. “Are you really entertaining any hope that some lady will be able to influence Rupert? He's the least easy to influence person I know.”

Celia sighed. “Believe me, my dear, the
right
lady could do a great deal with Rupert, because, you see, he'd let her.”

“Lady Alathea!”

Blinking, Alathea refocused on Mary and Alice, strolling with Heather and Eliza ahead of her on the lawns. It was clearly not they who had called. Looking around, she discovered two blond beauties rushing to catch her up. Both held on to elegant bonnets, ribbons streaming in the breeze; profusions of golden ringlets danced on their shoulders.

Recognizing the twins, Alathea halted. She'd been introduced to them at a ball, but they hadn't had a chance for any lengthy chat.

Gaining her side, the twins waved at their cousins, then turned beaming smiles upon her as they flanked her. Alathea got the distinct impression she'd been captured.

“We wondered if we might speak with you,” one began.

Alathea smiled, a shrewd suspicion of what was to come dawning in her mind. “You'll have to take pity on me—I can't remember which of you is which.”

“I'm Amelia,” the one who'd spoken testified.

“And I'm Amanda,” the other said, making it sound like a confession. “We wondered if you'd mind giving us your opinion.”

“On what subject?”

“Well, you've known Gabriel and Lucifer since they were young. We've decided that the only way we'll be able to escape them and find our own husbands is for them to get married, so we wanted to ask if you could give us any pointers.”

“Any hints as to who might be suitable—”

“Or characteristics to avoid, like being hen-brained.”

“Although that does narrow the candidates.”

Alathea looked from one bright face to the other—they were earnest, eager, and totally serious. She stifled a gurgle of laughter. “You want to marry them off so they'll no longer be in your way?”

“So they'll no longer guard us like the crown jewels!”

“We've heard,” Amelia said darkly, “that some gentlemen won't even come near us, simply because of the ructions that might ensue.”

“They actually cross us off their lists, right from the first, all because of those two!” Amanda all but shook her fist at her absent cousins. “How on earth can we reasonably assess all the possibilities—”

“And make sure they've assessed us properly, too—”

“If our watchdogs are forever snarling—”

“And they always snarl loudest at the most
interesting
gentlemen!”

“Well,” Amanda went on, “you know what gentlemen are like. If there's the least hurdle, then they simply won't bother exerting themselves.”

“Well, they don't need to, do they? There's always so many other ladies about for whom they need exert themselves not at all.”

“So you see, when it comes to eligibility, we're laboring under an unfair disadvantage.”

“Oh, dear.” Alathea fought to straighten her lips. “You know, I really don't think Gabriel and Lucifer would like you to think of them as an ‘unfair disadvantage.' ” She suspected they'd be hurt, their male egos bruised.

Amanda kicked at the grass. “Well, we don't plan on telling them, but that doesn't excuse the fact. They
are
a disadvantage.”

“And they are unfair, too.”

Alathea didn't argue—she thought the same. They
were
being pigheadedly unfair, refusing to see that Amanda and Amelia had any modicum of sense and, regardless of all else, had every right to choose their own husbands. The way Gabriel and Lucifer had always treated her—as an equal companion—stood in stark contrast to how they treated the twins. Although they'd always interposed themselves between her and any threat, they hadn't tried to stop her from encountering those threats.

Looking up, she checked her charges ambling ahead; all four girls were engrossed in some avid discussion. Alathea glanced at the twins—at Amanda, scowling at the grass as she walked, then at Amelia, softer of face but with the same determined set to her chin. “Why do you think their marrying will help?”

Amanda looked up. “Well, it has with all the others. They're no longer a problem.”

“All you have to do is look, and you'll see it. Why, Devil was the worst, but he's so much easier now.”

“Once they marry, it's as if all their attention is focused on the lady they wed.”

“And their families.”

Alathea pondered that.

“We think we should concentrate on Gabriel first.”

“Simply because he's the elder.” Amelia glanced at Alathea. “Do you think that's the right tack?”

Alathea considered the picture of Gabriel trying to maintain his repressive watch over the twins while simultaneously fending off ladies the twins themselves introduced. He wouldn't have time to cause her any problems. “I think . . . that your aunt Celia could give you some names.”

Amanda brightened. “That's a thought.”

“There would be no need,” Alathea mused, elaborating on the picture in her mind, “to be overly subtle. The ladies won't care as long as they gain some time by his side, and he'll know what you're up to from the first, so there's no need to be careful on that count.”

Amelia stopped dead. “He'll be trapped.” She swung to face Alathea and Amanda, her eyes alight. “He won't be able to escape—”

“Except”—Amanda concluded with great relish—“by leaving us alone.”

Hookhams Lending Library in Bond Street was Alathea's port of call the next morning. Unfortunately, their section on Africa was almost nonexistent. Nevertheless, she borrowed all four books; old and rather tattered, they held out little promise. Juggling them under her arm, she stepped down to the pavement. The biggest book slipped—her shoe skidded off the last step—

“Careful!”

Hard hands gripped her arms and righted her. Jerking her head up, Alathea stared—into Lucifer's face. She swallowed her sigh of relief, and struggled to calm her thudding heart. For one moment, with the sun behind him, she'd thought him his brother. “Ah . . .”

“Here—give me those.”

He didn't, of course, give her any choice. “Oh—yes!” Alathea drew in a quick breath. “Have you been riding this morning?”

He looked at her. “In the park? No. Why?”

She shrugged. “I just wondered . . . I'd love to go for a ride, but it's so impossible here—only being allowed to amble in the park.”

“If you want to ride”—he tucked her books under one arm and fell in beside her—“you'll need to organize an excursion to the country.”

Alathea grimaced. “I may as well wait until we return home.” Her only hope was to keep him talking, to hold his attention so he didn't glance at the books. Africa was an unusual topic, certainly an odd one for her to be studying in depth. Given that Lucifer shared Gabriel's house, and she knew how they tossed tidbits and observations back and forth . . . she drew in a breath. “But the Season's still got weeks and weeks to go.”

“Indeed, and those weeks are crammed with more balls than ever.” Lucifer frowned at the pavement. “And now here's Gabriel threatening to eschew all but compulsory family events.”

“Oh? Why?”

“The damned twins have gone on the offensive.”

“Offensive? What do you mean?”

“Last night, they swanned up to Gabriel on three separate occasions with a different lady each time, and cornered him.”

Alathea wished she'd seen it. “Couldn't he get away?”

“Not easy with one of the twins hanging on his arm and refusing to let go.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Oh, dear, indeed. You know what will happen, don't you?”

She looked at him questioningly.

“He'll wash his hands of the hussies.”

“Leaving you in the firing line.”

Lucifer stopped dead. “Good God.”

She managed to keep him grumbling about the twins all the way to where her carriage waited. Deftly dropping a kiss on his cheek, she snagged her books from under his arm.

He frowned at her. “What was that for?”

“Just for being you.” Safe in the carriage, the books on the seat beside her, she smiled gloriously.

He humphed, shut the carriage door, and waved her away.

She was still smiling when she crossed the threshold of Morwellan House; she nodded brightly to Crisp as he held the door. Stacking her books on the table beneath the mirror, she reached up to remove her bonnet.

“There you are, dear.”

Serena stood in the drawing room doorway. Placing her hat on top of the books, Alathea crossed the hall. “Do we have guests?” she whispered.

“No, no. I just wanted to speak with you.” Serena stepped back into the drawing room. “It's about your father.”

“Oh.” Following her and shutting the door, Alathea raised her brows.

“He's in one of his states.” Serena raised her hands helplessly. “You know—under the weather but not ill.”

“Has anything happened?”

“Not today. He was a little quiet when he came in yesterday, but he didn't say anything. You know he would normally be at White's by now, but instead he's sitting in the library.”

They looked at each other, concern mirrored in their faces. Then Alathea nodded. “I'll go and speak with him.”

Serena smiled. “Thank you—he always listens to you.”

Alathea hugged her stepmother. “He always listens to you, too, but we talk about different things.”

Her smile strengthening, Serena returned the hug. “Have you learned anything more about this promissory note?”

Alathea nodded. “I think we've found a way—a legal way—to have the note declared invalid, but I don't want to get anyone's hopes up yet.”

“That's probably wise. Just tell us when we're free.” They exchanged quick smiles, then Alathea headed for the library.

The door opened noiselessly; she slipped in, noting that the curtains were open, the room bright, not shrouded in gloom. A good sign. While her father did not make a habit of succumbing to the blue devils, he had, she knew, been inwardly berating himself over the wretched promissory note. He'd put on a brave face for her sake and Serena's, but he would feel the sense of failure, of self-reproach, deeply.

Sitting in his favorite armchair, the earl was looking out over the back lawn. Mary and Alice were cutting roses, each girl as delicately beautiful as the blooms they laid in their baskets. Beyond them, Charlie was teaching Jeremy the rudiments of cricket while Augusta and Miss Helm were seated on a rug in the sunshine, reading a book. The garden was enclosed by stone walls, visible here and there between trees and thick bushes. The scene could have been a painting depicting fashionable family life, but it wasn't a figment of anyone's imagination—it was real, and it was theirs.

Empowering certainty filling her, Alathea touched her father's shoulder. “Papa?”

So engrossed had he been, he hadn't known she was there. He looked up, then his lips curved ruefully. “Good morning, my dear.”

Catching her hand, he squeezed it; he continued to hold it as she sat on the arm of his chair. Alathea leaned her shoulder against his, comforted by the solidity beneath his coat. “What is it?”

He sighed, the sound deep and defeated. “I really hoped you'd be wrong about that company—that the Central East Africa Gold Company would ultimately turn out to be legitimate. That I hadn't made yet another mistake.”

He paused; Alathea held his hand firmly and waited.

“But you and Wiggs were right. It was all a hum. Chappie I met at White's yesterday told me so. He was from those parts—Central East Africa. He knew the company. Condemned it as a racket set up to gull simpletons into parting with their brass.” He grimaced. “I could hardly disagree.”

“You couldn't have known . . .” Alathea blinked. “This man, who was he?”

“Sailor fellow—a Captain something. Didn't catch his last name.”

“What did he look like?”

At the sudden tension in her voice, the earl turned to meet her gaze. “He was of middle height, rather portly. Had great grizzled whiskers down both cheeks. His clothes marked him as a seaman, senior rank—there's always a nautical air to such men.” He searched Alathea's face. “Why? Is he important?”

Alathea reined in her excitement. “He could be. Wiggs and I think there's a legal way of overturning the promissory note, but we need to learn more about the company's business. A man like this captain could be very helpful.” She gripped her father's hand. “Was he with anyone you knew?”

Her father shook his head. “No. But if it's important, I can ask around.”

“Do, Papa—it could be
very
important. And if you should stumble across him again, promise me you'll bring him home.”

Her father's brows quirked, but he nodded. “Right, then. I suppose I'd better get on to White's and see if I can track him down.”

“Oh, yes!” Alathea bounced to her feet as he rose. “This could help us
enormously
, Papa. Thank you!” She swooped at him and kissed him on the cheek.

Catching her within one arm, he hugged her. “Thank
you,
my dear.” He looked into her face, then placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Don't ever think I don't appreciate all you've done—I don't know what I did right to deserve you. I can only be glad you're mine.”

Alathea blinked rapidly. “Oh, Papa!” She hugged him quickly, then broke away, glancing through the window. “I must get Jeremy off to his lessons or he'll play cricket all day.” Still blinking, she hurried out.