Cheryl Holt (17 page)

What lady with any sense would have him?

Grumbling with disgust at himself, at the sorry condition to which he’d descended, he shoved the papers aside and stomped to the rear of the house and out into the yard. Off in the distance, he could make out a chimney at Salisbury Manor.

What he wouldn’t give to be in Edward’s shoes! A secure title, loads of money in the bank, and every affluent maiden in the realm vying for his hand.

Some men had all the blasted luck, while some had none!

A vision flashed, of the incautious strumpet Penelope, with whom he’d trifled in Edward’s gazebo. What was her game?

Although she’d contended that she was twenty-three, he’d place her closer to sixteen. Throughout the supper he’d weathered at Edward’s, she’d flaunted herself at him. She’d been subtle about it, so others hadn’t noticed her coquetry, and by the time she’d suggested a tryst, he’d hadn’t been surprised.

She behaved like a harlot, yet when he’d attempted to have sex with her, she’d cried off like a frightened virgin. He’d contemplated rape, an act that he’d have regarded as justified after her cock-teasing, but she was a wildcat who’d have fought him, and since he’d over-imbibed, he hadn’t been in the mood to scramble merely to accomplish the deed.

She’d been saved by his inebriation, but if he disported with her again, he couldn’t guarantee that she’d be so fortuitous. Once challenged, he rarely backed down, and he’d be more than happy to confer what she deserved.

Another, more interesting, thought occurred to him: What sort of dowry did she have? Both her father and stepfather had been earls, imperious, pompous asses whom Freddy hadn’t been able to abide. Upon their
deaths, they had to have bequeathed a substantial amount to assure an advantageous betrothal.

“I wonder,” he mused aloud.

How adequately had Lady Penelope’s fathers endowed her? What if she had a
pair
of dowries? A portion from each earl! Wouldn’t that be the ticket!

She was a tad older than he liked, but she was fetching enough to stimulate his aberrant preferences. With her sass and attitude, he’d never weary of trying to tame her, or bend her to his will.

The very idea aroused him, his cock stirring in his pants.

It would be simple to force marriage onto Lady Penelope. As she had the morals of a slattern, it would take scant effort to lure her into a compromising situation. Judging from their previous rendezvous, he didn’t think she had much experience—which thrilled him. He was an expert at coaxing children to do what they oughtn’t, so he wouldn’t have to expend much energy in leading her astray.

A few more furtive glances, a few more whispered words, another trip or two to the gazebo, and she would be ruined and desperate.

When they were discovered, there’d have to be a swift wedding to avoid any hint of scandal. With no delay, he’d be in control of all her lovely money, and his problems would be solved.

Just reflecting on how he’d toss it in Henry’s face, on how marvelous it would be to escape his brother’s pious influence, made his pulse race.

What a grand scheme! Why hadn’t he concocted it sooner?

He strutted inside and ordered his horse saddled, while he rushed upstairs and changed into one of his new jackets. Within minutes, he was trotting toward
Salisbury. If he contrived an auspicious entrance, he could finagle another invitation to supper.

Surely, Edward could use another man at the table while entertaining that gaggle of females.

Laughing, and more optimistic than he had been in a long while, he spurred his horse down the lane.

Margaret loitered on the verandah, enjoying the sunshine, and perusing the post that had been forwarded from London. There was the expected pile of bills, the private letters from acquaintances, and another frantic note from their housekeeper, informing her that Helen still hadn’t been found.

After the servant’s initial agitated missive had been delivered, Margaret had soothed her by having Mr. Lassiter drop by the town house. A most competent individual, he’d supplied the woman with several vague reports, about false searches that had never been implemented, but the nosy retainer didn’t need to know the pesky details.

There were those who’d be shocked by what she’d set in motion, but there were just as many who would have done the same, given the circumstances, and she refused to suffer any guilt.

Over Margaret’s strenuous objection, the family had agreed to keep and minister to the lowly creature, when it was obvious that the mother had had tainted blood. Since both parents were deceased, Margaret was left to tackle the consequences of her stepson’s negligence.

Margaret wasn’t about to allow the mistake of a dead, stupid, juvenile man to interfere with Penny’s future—or her own—nor was she about to use any more of their minimal coin to foster the tiny imbecile. Margaret had already devoted much more toil and travail on the child than was warranted.

Olivia would be glad someday. She would! Margaret didn’t doubt it. Once she was wed and raising her own children, she’d be relieved that fate had removed the burden from her slender shoulders.

Winnie came out the door, and Margaret slipped the letter to the bottom of the stack, concealing it. If Winnie and Olivia had the least suspicion that something was amiss, they’d insist on scurrying to town, and Margaret wasn’t about to tolerate a premature halt to the Salisbury visit. They were scheduled to remain as the earl’s guests for two more weeks and that is what they would do. After their affairs were resolved to Margaret’s satisfaction, there would be sufficient occasion to wail and moan about Helen.

Winnie approached, and Margaret studied her. She looked altered. There was a sparkle and verve about her that had been absent for an eternity, and the modification made her stand out, made her distinct and blatant in a fashion Margaret didn’t like.

Winnie had always been much too pretty. Thankfully, while she’d resided with Margaret, she’d been careful to mute her appearance. She utilized no enhancing facial paints, kept her hair covered, wore prudish, nondescript gowns, and Margaret had been grateful for her modesty.

With her licentiousness proven, and her countenance the type that could tempt any man, Margaret had constantly fretted that the male servants or perhaps—God forbid!—her own husband or stepson might fall victim to Winnie’s notorious charms, but her worries had been for naught.

Indeed, Winnie comported herself with the utmost decorum, faithfully endeavoring to be inconspicuous, so what had happened to produce such a vivid transformation?

She recalled a peculiar comment Penny had made,
about having observed Winnie and the earl together in the garden. Margaret had paid it no heed, deeming it to have been merely another example of Penny’s penchant for mischief.

Winnie and the earl couldn’t be . . .

The thought was so preposterous that she couldn’t let it spiral to a conclusion. Since their arrival, Winnie hadn’t spoken half a dozen sentences to Edward. She spent every second moping in her bedchamber. There couldn’t have been an opportunity for her to . . .

“Good afternoon, Margaret.” She was cordial as she pulled up a chair and seated herself.

“Winnie.”

“It’s so beautiful here, isn’t it?” Sighing, she stared across the lawns, her hazel eyes taking in the manicured grounds, the horses grazing off in the distance.

“Olivia could hardly do better than to garner all this for herself.”

“Have you received any clue as to the earl’s opinion? Is he smitten?”

Margaret scoffed. “His personal feelings have nothing to do with his decision.”

“It would be nice for Olivia, though, wouldn’t it? If she could make a love match?”

“What folderol!” Margaret waved her hand as though to swipe away the absurd sentiment. Why did the young persist with their romantic nonsense? Winnie was old enough, and experienced enough, to realize the fallacy of ivory towers.

Olivia would wed for accepted, practical considerations.

“Where have you been all day?” Margaret interjected, deftly changing the subject.

“In my room.”

“What brings you outside?”

“I wanted to speak with you.”

Margaret waited forever for her to begin, and the protracted vacillation grated. “Well . . .?”

“I’d like to return to London.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, and I was wondering if we could manage it.”

“You want to leave early? Before our holiday has ended?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

She wanted to go? Winnie hadn’t traveled in ages, because Margaret never let her, and she’d only acquiesced this time so that Winnie would be absent when Helen vanished. The blasted woman was having a fabulous vacation, had just gushed over the splendor of the property. What was wrong with her?

“It would be a great deal of
trouble
,” Margaret complained. “We came in the earl’s carriage. We’ll journey home the same way. If you departed, you’d have to take the public coach. How could you contemplate such foolishness? What’s come over you?”

“I guess I’m homesick. And I have to admit that I’m terribly bored. There’s so little to do, and I miss the activity that’s available in the city.” She smiled, her usual pleasant, amiable smile.

Margaret assessed her. Every word she’d uttered was an out-and-out lie. Winnie cherished this sort of idyllic adventure, and it was one of the reasons Margaret had rarely let her go with them to the familial estate. Lest she forget the charity her presence incurred, Winnie needed to be reminded of her place.

“What an ungracious request,” Margaret snapped. “Not only would you insult the earl with your egression, but your poor manners would reflect badly on Olivia. And you would impose on me to finance your totally
unnecessary and uncalled-for trip.” Visibly irate, she shook her head. “For shame, Winnie! For shame!”

“I apologize, Margaret,” Winnie declared. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but would it really be so expensive? I’d imagine the fare to be but a few pounds.”

“You would, would you?” Margaret asked. “What if it is a
few
pounds? You couldn’t trot off alone, so we’d have to send a maid with you. We’d need to purchase her fare, as well. Do you think money grows on trees?”

“I know it doesn’t.”

“You’ve never had to pay your own way”—Margaret scored a direct hit with the caustic admonishment; Winnie blanched—“so you have limited understanding of how much things cost and how difficult it is to make ends meet, but I would regard such an excursion to be completely frivolous.”

“I see . . .”

Nervous and on edge, Winnie peered down at her hands, and for a moment, it seemed she might argue, or spew facts that shouldn’t be divulged.

“I suggest”—Margaret hurried on before Winnie could emit a remark that shouldn’t be voiced aloud—“that you stroll the garden and ponder why you should be thankful for this brief respite Lord Salisbury has granted us. Should he not choose Olivia, and we retreat to London with our palms out like a pack of beggars, there’ll be plenty of time for your selfish bewailing.” She fixed her attention on her letters. “Be off, before you say something idiotic that will make me lose my temper.”

Winnie dawdled, as if determined to brazen it out, but Margaret had dismissed her, so she didn’t dare. She stood and left, seizing upon Margaret’s advice that she walk in the garden to compose herself.

She meandered down one of the pathways, and
Margaret scrutinized her retreating figure until she disappeared behind the shrubbery. Then she relaxed in her chair and mulled over the strange conversation.

There were undercurrents to it that Margaret didn’t comprehend and couldn’t quite define, yet she felt them as plainly as if they were bumping up against her.

Winnie never instigated a confrontation. Why had she now? A dire issue was eating at her. What if she was trifling with the earl? Was it possible?

Margaret would have to keep her eyes and ears open. If Winnie was stupid enough to philander with Edward, which in effect would ruin Olivia’s chances to marry him, Margaret had scads of ammunition to hold Winnie at bay.

Winnie had many humiliating secrets, and Margaret knew every one of them. She would have no qualms about imparting Winnie’s sordid history to Edward. For a man who focused on bloodlines to the exclusion of all else, Winnie’s sins would be unforgivable.

In the interim, she’d check out the particulars as to the public conveyance that carried passengers to London from the area’s coaching inn. Should she require Winnie’s precipitous exit from the estate, the information would come in handy.

Margaret’s gaze roamed past the yard and out to the winding drive that connected the manor to the main road. Olivia had been riding again, an afternoon diversion she’d unexpectedly and regularly embraced, and she was finishing up another jaunt. A groom was behind her, appropriately spaced, apathetic, and proficient in his duties.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about the scenario, and Margaret might not have given it a second thought had she not happened to notice Olivia glance around. While she couldn’t observe Olivia’s expression,
her view of the groom was most distinct. He winked at Olivia, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile as if they’d shared a private jest.

He was handsome, in a dark, dangerous way that many women liked, and Margaret could appreciate why a female of Olivia’s restricted background might be fascinated by such a fellow. Working men had a certain allure to which even her own Penelope wasn’t immune.

Olivia wouldn’t behave improperly, or engage in recklessness, but she was dabbling in pursuits that didn’t involve the earl, so Margaret was furious. She didn’t know where Edward was, and in his stead, Olivia’s attractive chaperon was a temptation that could distract her from her obligations.

Up until now, Margaret had been content to let the relationship blossom of its own accord, but with each subsequent day, Olivia was less inclined to garner Edward’s favor. Her rides were a marked example of how she’d rather do anything but fraternize with the earl. Her recalcitrance, coupled with Winnie’s abnormal conduct, had Margaret speculating as to whether she should orchestrate a conclusion.