An Unsuitable Bride (25 page)

Peregrine gave her an incredulous look. “Take advantage of you? Sweet heaven, that’s rich, coming from one who’s taking advantage of everyone she comes across by perpetrating this massive hoax for some nefarious purpose that I can’t begin to imagine.”

He shook his head vigorously. “No, I most definitely don’t think you’re fair game, and I most certainly didn’t take advantage of you.” He passed her a bowl of soup. “You enjoyed that kiss every bit as much as I did, so don’t pretend, Alexandra. I don’t know why I find you so bewitching. God knows you do everything in your power to make yourself as unalluring as possible, and you’re thoroughly obstreperous, and your tongue’s so sharp I’m amazed you haven’t cut yourself, but somehow none of that matters. I’m in love with you.” He shrugged, shaking his head with a degree of bewilderment. “ ’Tis thoroughly inconvenient.”

Alexandra listened in astonishment to this most un-lover-like declaration, and all she could manage was a murmured “Oh.”

Peregrine picked up his spoon and began to eat his soup, his expression still one of mingled annoyance and bewilderment. After a moment, aware that she was sitting stock-still, staring down at her bowl, he said, “Is there something the matter with the soup? I find it quite tasty. D’you not care for mushrooms?”

“Oddly, I find you’ve killed my appetite,” she stated, finding her voice at last. “I can’t imagine why that should be. I am, of course, quite accustomed to receiving declarations of love from someone who also finds me unlovable.”

Peregrine laughed. “Absurd creature, I don’t find you in the least unlovable, even though I’m certain I should. Eat your soup, now.”

Alexandra took up her spoon. Her thoughts were so confused that she took refuge in the plain pedestrian activity of eating her dinner. The automatic motions of hand to bowl to mouth were somehow soothing. He had to be playing with her. Teasing her. Nothing he said made any sense, and she wouldn’t dignify it with an attempt to understand it.

After a few minutes, Perry remarked conversationally, “I seem to have effected a miracle. I appear to have rendered Mistress Alexandra speechless.”

“Far from it, sir,” she stated without expression. “I merely see little point in conducting a conversation with someone who insults my intelligence.”

He shook his head, buttering a piece of bread. “No, no, Alexandra. I would never do that. I have far too much respect for your intelligence. However, I do find myself somewhat apprehensive about the purpose to which you are at present devoting that intelligence.”

This topic was a lot safer than declarations of love. “Why would you assume ’tis a nefarious purpose?” She finished her soup and took a sip of wine, her composure somewhat restored.

“Well, tell me ’tis not, and I’ll accept your word,” he challenged, watching her expression.

And how could she do that with any honesty? Alex fiddled with the salt cellar as she contemplated her answer. In truth, she could understand his assumption. What possible legitimate reason could she have for this elaborate masquerade? But in her heart, she didn’t consider her reason to be anything but just.

Finally, she said firmly, “I do not consider my reasons to be reprehensible. Quite the opposite.”

The maid’s return with the second course prevented Perry’s responding, and when she had left them with roast chicken and buttered parsnips, he turned the conversation. “We should leave soon after dawn in the morning, if you wish to reach Basingstoke by nightfall.”

“Of course.” She toyed with her chicken and then put down her fork, pushing back her chair. She felt mangled, twisted and knotted inside. “I’m going to bed.”

He made no attempt to stop her, merely rose with her and went to open the door. Before lifting the latch, he laid a hand on her arm. “I meant what I said, Alexandra. I love you. For better or worse.” His smile was a little rueful. “I won’t press you for a response, but I’d appreciate it if you gave it some thought.” He lightly kissed her brow and opened the door. “Good night.”

“Good night.” The automatic response was little more than a whisper, and she hurried for the stairs and the sanctuary of her own chamber.

Chapter Eleven

Peregrine made no further mention of his inconvenient feelings the next day or during their overnight stay at the Hare and Hounds in Basingstoke. He was a charming and attentive companion, and Alexandra at first found this more bewildering than his extraordinary declaration . . . a declaration that had terrified her and thrilled her in equal parts. She had lain awake wondering how she should respond. She was still confused by her own feelings towards him. She couldn’t think clearly about anything but the next step in her plan, and the emotional upheaval Peregrine had brought into her life didn’t help at all. Every time she thought she had managed to push it to the background, the question would creep back into the forefront of her mind, obscuring the clarity of her mission:
Do I feel the same way about him?
Even if she did, what could she do about it? It wasn’t practical to be in love with anyone, let alone with the Honorable Peregrine Sullivan.

His demeanor didn’t change at all throughout the remainder of the journey, and when they arrived in
Berkeley Square in the late afternoon of the second day, Alex was no closer to unraveling the impossible tangle of needs, desires, and hard reality.

The double-fronted mansion was just as she remembered it, although she had not visited it in six years. Peregrine lifted the brass lion’s-head door knocker and let it fall with a resounding clang, while the postilion carried the tea chest of books up the steps. A few minutes later, the door was opened, and an elderly man in a baize apron peered myopically at Peregrine.

Alexandra, who was still sitting in the chaise waiting to see who would welcome her, felt a rush of relief. This man was unknown to her. Her father’s London steward had been a vigorous gentleman in his middle years, ably assisted by his equally brisk and energetic wife.

Peregrine nodded to the man and came back to the chaise. He opened the door. “They are expecting you, it seems. But I wouldn’t give much for the quality of the hospitality. The old man tells me the house is still in dust covers, and there’s only himself and a Mistress Dougherty to keep things ticking over.”

“I will need little enough hospitality,” Alex said, stepping down to the street. “I’m quite capable of looking after myself.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Perry agreed with a half smile. Mistress Alexandra was one of the most competent young women he’d ever had dealings with. He escorted her into the hall where the caretaker waited.

“Name’s Billings, mistress.” The old man introduced himself with a somewhat creaky bow. “Mistress Dougherty is still airing out the yellow bedchamber, but we’ve a fire goin’ in the breakfast parlor. Reckon that’ll do ye for sittin’ and the like.” He gestured to a door at the rear of the hall.

Alex looked around the large hall. It smelled musty, and the surfaces were thick with dust. Her father would have been outraged. The yellow bedchamber was at the back of the house, away from the street, she remembered. It was one of the smallest chambers but easier to air and to warm. It would certainly do, and the prospect of having the house almost to herself filled her with a sublime sense of liberation. There was no one she had to pretend to. If Mistress Dougherty was as ancient and creaky as Billings, then they’d barely notice her comings and goings. She could manage a whole week of peace and quiet apart from conducting her necessary business, and that she could do mostly by correspondence.

Peregrine was watching her, and he could almost see her slough the tension like a snake shedding its skin. She stood straighter, lifted her chin, and smiled the genuine smile that had captivated him on the rare occasions he’d seen it.

“So, I will leave you to settle in, and I will come for you at six o’clock this evening,” he informed her.

She looked at him, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. I will come at six, and we shall dine
in the Piazza. No one will know you there, so I trust you won’t condemn me to an evening in the company of the librarian?” He raised an eyebrow in question.

“I don’t wish to dine abroad.”

“Nonsense, of course you do. I can feel what you’re feeling, Alexandra. You’re free for the moment from whatever is chaining you, and you may as well enjoy it to the full. I’ll be here at six.” On which statement, he bowed and took his leave.

Alex stood still in the dusty hall, staring after him. The door closed, and she shook her head, trying to dispel the increasingly frequent sensation of being adrift on a sea of confusion.

“What d’ye want doin’ wi’ that chest, then, ma’am?”

The retainer’s question brought her back to her surroundings. “Would you take it into the breakfast parlor, please, Billings?”

He looked at it doubtfully, and she said swiftly, “I daresay ’tis too heavy for you. Is there anyone to help?”

“Aye, there’s the lad.” He turned and shuffled towards the door to the back regions, leaving Alex where she was. She made her way to the breakfast parlor. It was a small room that she remembered as being warm and cheerful. The fire in the grate was sullen, and a gust of smoke blew into the room from a chimney that clearly needed sweeping. She picked up a cushion from the sofa and pummeled it, averting her head from the cloud of dust.

She was too much of a Douglas to let this pass, and
when a strapping lad appeared with the tea chest on his shoulder, she said briskly, “The chimney needs sweeping. There’s probably a bird’s nest up there. Let the fire go out in here, and put a broom up it before morning. Also, ask Mistress Dougherty to bring me tea. I wish to talk with her without delay.”

The lad looked at her with a flicker of respect. From what he’d heard of the talk between the caretakers, Lady Douglas had told them to expect someone of the status of an upper servant, but this lady had a very different air, even though she was hardly dressed like a lady of means. “Right y’are, ma’am.” He set the chest down and vanished

Alex discarded her cloak and walked around the chamber, noting what needed to be done to make it as welcoming as it once was. She turned from wiping a gloved finger down the grimy windowpane as the door opened to admit an elderly woman with a tea tray. “Not got much in the way of tea, mistress,” she said. “Just a bit o’ dust left in the caddy. But I reckon it’ll do.” She set the tray down with a somewhat doubtful air.

“I very much doubt that it will, Mistress Dougherty,” Alex said with a frown. “Where do you normally order your supplies?”

The woman looked a little surprised. “Well, Billings ’n’ me, we don’t need much, just a loaf o’ bread, a pig’s cheek now an’ again, an’ a drop o’ milk, and Billings’s ale, o’ course. I usually gets the necessaries from the
barrow boys what comes by every day or so. But they don’t ’ave the likes of tea.” She shook her head. “A bit too refined, that.”

“Well, we’ll have to do better than that.” Alex poured the thin liquid into a cup. It was so pale as to retain almost none of the deep brown she would have expected. “I’ll be here for a week, and I expect a decent cup of tea, Mistress Dougherty, and fresh milk and eggs. We’ll discuss the day’s supplies every morning while I take breakfast.”

“Well, who’s to pay fer this, then?” the woman asked, blinking rapidly.

“Does Sir Stephen not provide you with funds to keep the house running?” Alex knew well that for Stephen, the general management of his estate and tenants’ affairs were of very low priority, but it was hard to believe that he’d leave this couple in charge of such a large house without any funds for essential maintenance.

“Well, now, that Master Riley comes by now an’ again to look the ’ouse over, an’ if there’s summat that needs doin’, then he gives Billings a few shillings. We get by well enough.”

Alexandra knew Master Riley, who had been her father’s agent and estate manager, and Stephen kept him on because he had no idea how to do the job himself. As long as his revenues kept coming in, he never questioned the agent’s business, except when he was required to fund a new roof for a tenant or make repairs
to the water mill. Then he moaned and grumbled for days, complaining that his agent was robbing him blind.

No provision had been made for Alexandra’s sojourn in Berkeley Square, so it rather looked as if she was going to have to provide for herself, she reflected grimly.

“I will pay for my own food,” she said. “We’ll discuss the day’s needs every morning, and I will give you the necessary funds.” She set down her teacup with a grimace, looking around at her surroundings again. The neglect was Stephen’s responsibility. If he didn’t provide for the house’s upkeep, then this old couple couldn’t be expected to care for it in any but the most basic fashion. But still, it was upsetting to see what had once been such an elegant and welcoming abode in such a condition.

“I am sure we can do something about this room, Mistress Dougherty. It will cost not a sou to put it to rights. It needs dusting, airing, and the windows cleaned. Would you ensure that’s done before the morning?” She didn’t wait for a response, rising from her chair, continuing with the same brisk determination, “And now I’ll go to my chamber. Would you show me up?”