Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (56 page)

Chapter Five

F
rom the very beginning, Cecily had not entirely approved of Annemarie's unconcealed hostility towards Lord Verne. Now, when she had been told of the reason for the abrupt change, she could not approve of that either. Being resentful and distrustful of men was one thing, but this was a dangerous game to play with a man of his calibre and deceitful, too, given his proven gallantry towards women. She had watched with some consternation how Annemarie had responded to him during the evening and wondered how much of that was due to Colonel Harrow's glowing account and how much to whatever had happened in Brighton. Was Annemarie as good an actress as that, or was her heart being softened, despite her protestations? Cecily knew her very well and did not believe she had it in her to persist in any attempt to break a man's heart, thinking it would mend hers in the process. Annemarie had never been in the least spiteful. She would not be able to do it and, what was more, Verne did not deserve it.

With these worrying thoughts in her mind as she prepared for bed, the idea of a further collaboration with Verne seemed like a natural progression. Perhaps to let him know where the letters had been taken? Just to keep him one step ahead instead of one step behind? He would know how to handle the information, what to do next, whether to proceed with this unsound domestic relationship that was intended to lead nowhere, or not.

She decided to take a look, to reassure herself.

Placing the portmanteau beside her feet, she unlocked the catch and flicked the leather tab back, pulling the sides apart wide enough to allow one hand inside. But instead of contacting the firm edges of folded papers, her fingertips encountered something soft. She gave a yelp, withdrew her hand and opened the bag wider, staring in disbelief at the corded upper edge of a cushion.

‘Of course,' she whispered. ‘I should have known. He doesn't need my help, does he? Clever devil. He's already got them. One step behind, indeed. Was it ever likely, Cecily my girl?' She pulled the cushion out, a pretty thing, a blue-velvet border round a silk patchwork, neatly made with tassels at each corner. But for whom? Would the owner be missing it? Of the letters there was no sign. She placed the cushion beside her on the bed as a tap on the door made her start, guiltily. ‘Who is it?' she said, kicking the portmanteau under her legs.

‘Me, ma'am. Evie.' The door opened enough to allow Evie to peer round. ‘Sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but m'lady wonders if—?'

‘Come inside and close the door.' The very person who would know.

‘Yes, ma'am.'

Cecily rarely beat about the bush to no purpose. Patting the cushion, she directed Evie's attention, observing with some satisfaction how the pretty eyes latched onto the contrast of pale blue on the bright pink silk of her bedspread. ‘Where did this come from?' she said. ‘You appear to recognise it, Evie.'

At Cecily's beckoning finger, Evie approached and took the cushion for a closer look, turning it over and over as if to make sure. ‘Yes, ma'am. There were two of them on the window-seat.'

‘Where?'

Evie's eyes opened wide as they met Cecily's. ‘Er...at the Swan, ma'am. In Lady Golding's room. Last night. Where we stayed.'

‘Yes? And who else was in the room? With you, I mean.'

‘No...er...no one, er...' Her gaze dropped back to the cushion as if it might contradict her.

‘Ee...vee?'

The young maid stroked the cushion as a deep pink blush flooded her face, deeper than her pale curls, and the blue eyes filled with tears at being so soon discovered in a lie she could not maintain.

‘For heaven's sake, don't weep,' Cecily said, ‘or your mistress will want to know why. What is it you came for?'

‘A pearl button, ma'am, to replace one that's missing.'

‘Over there in the drawer. Needle and thread, too. Go and stitch the button, then before you go to your own room, come back here to me. We have to talk. And don't look like that, lass. I'm not about to have you dismissed.'

‘Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am.' Evie fled.

* * *

Twenty minutes later she was back with the rest of the story. ‘It was Lord Verne's valet, ma'am. Samson. He came to the room to ask if I needed to go down for some supper. His lordship had told him there were valuables to be watched and he offered to stay with them while I went to get a tray. He's a very superior kind of young man, ma'am. Quite top-lofty he is.'

‘I'm sure he is, Evie. So you went down and left him in the room.'

Evie nodded, glancing again at the offending cushion. ‘I didn't think,' she said.

‘Didn't think what? That he couldn't pick the lock of a portmanteau? Most lordship's valets can pick locks as easy as breathing, girl. And much else besides. They'd not be much use to them if they couldn't.'

‘Oh dear, ma'am, this is terrible. What's her ladyship going to say when she discovers her valuables are missing?'

‘Leave that to me. I take it you had supper together, then, you and Mr Samson?'

‘Yes, ma'am, I took supper up for us both. It took ages for me to get it, what with all the stagecoach passengers staying overnight. He took the tray back down when we'd finished. Very polite he was. I'd never have thought he was a thief. Such a correct young man, ma'am.'

‘Very nimble-fingered he was, too, Evie. Listen to me. I don't suppose for a moment he'll have told Lord Verne that he took anything from the portmanteau, so you must not say anything either. Lady Golding has left it for me to deal with and I shall. So now you need take no action, except to beware of presentable polite young men who offer to do you a favour. Was it only supper you had together, Evie?'

Evie did not pretend to misunderstand, for by then she was quite capable of believing the worst of Samson, despite their pleasant hour together. ‘It was only supper, ma'am. Nothing else. I know when to draw the line.'

‘Good. Now, this should be taken back to where it belongs, or they'll be thinking at the Swan that Lady Golding is a real rum touch, nicking their best room cushions.'

Cecily's slang brought a weak smile to Evie's face. ‘I'll take it. Lady Golding would not have noticed it, so I can always slip it back if we call there again. Goodnight, and thank you, ma'am,' she said, tucking it under her arm. ‘I'm so sorry about this. I shall not be so trusting again.'

‘Goodnight, Evie.' Cecily's eyes rolled heavenwards as the door closed. ‘Tch!' she said. ‘Now what?' So much for Verne wanting no more to do with Annemarie once he had the letters. He had taken them and then decided to take her as his mistress. The Prince Regent would now be breathing a huge sigh of relief and no wonder Verne had been late for dinner. Mission accomplished.

* * *

Cecily was not the only one to have reservations about Annemarie's newest plans. Since that morning, when Annemarie had first suggested it, there had been time enough, as the countryside passed her by, for her to ponder on the wisdom of becoming the mistress of a man she scarcely knew. Such a position was fraught with danger even if it had been arrived at after a lengthy consideration, which it had not. But now she felt as if she'd been manoeuvred into it without being able to blame anyone but herself. Mistresses were not in the least uncommon, nor were they particularly ostracised except by the envious, but it had never been an ambition of hers to live the life of a
demi-rep
rather than a wife. What would be her chances of marriage when this
affaire
came to an end? Was she effectively devaluing herself by this? Would it be worth the effort? Or the risk?

Later, after returning to Park Lane, she saw the chances of a change of mind becoming even more remote after her father's approval, which she suspected would not have been so forthcoming if he'd not already seen Lord Verne as a fellow antiquarian and collector. He had not even suggested she should give it more thought. Were fathers not supposed to be a little more protective? Resistant? Suggesting alternatives? Nor had Verne's lengthy goodnight been calculated to give her time to think again. For the second time, and without the excuse of fatigue, she had put up no resistance to his kisses. Worse, she had been thinking about the earlier ones all through dinner. No wonder he was suspicious of her swift change of heart when she herself was unsure how much was pretence and how much was genuine. Was it all moving too fast for comfort?

The problem of how to rid herself of the letters, however, was virtually solved, the only consequence now being to keep Verne from knowing whether she had them and what she had done with them. Obviously, his attempts to stay close to her in order to find out would be his main concern, and so when he arrived after breakfast to escort the two sisters on their shopping expedition, with a smart two-horse barouche waiting outside, that was seen as a game to be played out by them both.

* * *

They were back on Park Lane in time for a late luncheon after several productive hours of shopping, finishing off at Gunter's in Berkeley Square for refreshing ices. ‘Oh, Cecily, you never saw such fabrics. And the lace. And furs. The
glacé
silks and grenadines. I purchased striped
barège
enough for a skirt, with a violet silk to make a matching jacket,' said Annemarie, searching through the parcels, ‘a shilling and threepence a yard, and satins at four shillings. But I need something for this afternoon. Perhaps I could borrow your maid to go with Evie to Montague Street to bring a few of my other clothes back here. It'll be a few days before my new things are ready.'

‘Of course. You cannot continue to borrow Marguerite's evening dresses as you did last night.'

‘I bought her a pair of satin shoes, to say thank you. And this, dear Cecily, is for you.' The hatbox was deep with layers of tissue to protect a white-lace and silk-flower creation for Cecily's fair curls, exclusive, expensive, and utterly extravagant. ‘For you to wear at the theatre with your Chantilly lace shawl,' said Annemarie.

‘Oh, my dear child, there's really no need to thank me. You know you're always welcome here, love.'

‘Not just that,' said Annemarie. ‘This morning, too. Did you see her?'

In view of the shopping spree, Cecily thought she had forgotten about Lady Hamilton. ‘Yes, I saw her,' she said, trying on the lace cap before the mirror.

‘And? Was she pleased?'

Cecily came to sit beside her. ‘Tie it for me. Should the bow be to this side? Yes, she was surprised
and
pleased. She wants you to know how immensely grateful she is for your thoughtfulness. In fact, she sent you a note. Here you are. She apologises for its hastiness, but I got the impression she was preparing to move again. Rather quickly.'

‘They're letting her out, then?'

‘That's how it looks. She didn't say, and I didn't like to ask, but she nearly wept when I gave her the money. She could hardly believe it.'

‘Poor lady. Well then, that's all out of the way, isn't it?'

‘Indeed it is. Now you can forget about it at last.'

The note was brief and made no mention of the letters, but that, Annemarie thought, was probably not surprising if she was in a hurry to leave. For another thing, it was safest to leave such matters unspoken. Her relief to have the letters returned would surely be as great as Annemarie's.

For a few moments, the thought kept her still and pensive. She had so much enjoyed her morning's shopping with Oriel and Lord Verne, who seemed to know what she would like without being told. She had felt completely at ease each time his friends had waved and saluted him, or her acquaintances had nodded and smiled to see her in town again, and it had taken some effort to remind herself that she needed no man in her life when his company had made such a vast difference to her enjoyment.

So now, just as she was about to agree with Cecily that she could forget about the controversial matter at last, the darker side of her memory prompted her to recall her wounds, to keep them open and not to allow a morning's pleasure to soothe them.

Cecily was quick to notice the hesitation before the reply. ‘You
are
going to forget about it, love, aren't you?' she said, rising to take another look in the mirror. ‘You're not going to pursue this revenge thing, are you? Verne's interest is quite unfeigned, you know. Can you not tell?'

‘Cecily, pursuing the revenge thing, as you call it, is what it's all about. That's why I've agreed to become his mistress, isn't it? The deeper he commits himself, the better. And the longer his Royal Highness is made to squirm, the more I shall think it all worthwhile.'

‘That's not like you, Annemarie. Not like you at all,' Cecily said. ‘I've put the empty portmanteau in your room. You'll need it again before long.'

‘I shall, my dear. Verne is taking me to see a house this very afternoon.'

‘So soon? Where? Did he say?'

‘He wouldn't tell me, but I hope it's not too far away from you.'

Layers of tissue and ribbon spilled from bed to floor, soft fabrics, printed and plain, silky and sheer, their colours mingling like pools of paint on an artist's palette. And there was another treat, she thought. She would ride with him in the park. The days ahead seemed all at once filled with new possibilities, with colour, and promise, and purpose.

Mrs Cecily Cardew, however, did not share Annemarie's optimism, seeing this vengeful side of her intended specifically to hurt the man who least deserved it. Convinced that Annemarie would not have agreed to become Verne's mistress unless she felt something for him, how could she now intend to use him so badly, a man she herself could have fallen for thirty years ago? Ought she to warn him? Or would he already have suspected some ulterior motive? Of course he would. The man was no fool to be taken for a ride by a bruised-hearted beauty like Annemarie Golding.