Improper Ladies (11 page)

The butler appeared to announce that supper was served.

Justin held out his arm to Mrs. Aldritch, and she slipped her hand softly into the crook of his elbow, allowing him to escort her into the dining room.

“I would be happy to tell you of India,” he said, as he seated her at her place at the table. “Sometime soon?”

She seemed to hesitate for a second, then slowly nodded her head. “Soon, Lord Lyndon.”

“Has your mother known Lady Lyndon very long?” Phoebe asked Sarah Bellweather. The two of them sat in one of the cushioned window seats after supper, watching the others play cards and whispering together.

“Forever, it seems.” Sarah sighed. “They were quite the bosom bows when I came home from school. They expected me to marry Lord Lyndon, you know.”

“No!” Phoebe, shocked, looked over to where Lord Lyndon played whist with her sister, Lady Lyndon, and Mr. Allen. He said something to Caroline, who nodded and smiled.

How could he possibly marry Sarah Bellweather when Phoebe had picked him out especially for her own sister!

“But . . . he’s so old,” she said faintly.

Sarah grimaced. “I know. And I intend never to marry. I want to be an archaeologist.”

Phoebe found this even more shocking than the thought of Sarah marrying old Lord Lyndon. Even though she had been widely considered the most daring girl at Mrs. Medlock’s School, Phoebe had never thought of doing anything but marrying.

Her esteem for Sarah Bellweather grew by the moment.

“You mean you want to dig about in the dirt for old bones?” she asked, having only the vaguest idea about what archaeologists did.

“Yes, and old treasure, too. I have been reading all about ancient civilizations, and I have corresponded with several members of the Antiquarian Society in London. It is my greatest dream,” Sarah said wistfully. “But I fear it will never come true. Mama thinks all a lady should think about are babies and needlework. She’s been going on for weeks about how I should be charming to Lord Lyndon.”

“You . . . you’re not really going to marry him, are you?” Phoebe asked, her gaze still on Caroline and Lord Lyndon. Caroline laughed, actually
laughed,
at something he was saying to her. “You absolutely cannot!”

“I know that. I even told him I intend never to marry, just in case his mother had the same idea as mine. He was really very nice about it, and he agreed that we probably would not suit.”

Phoebe smiled in relief. That was all right, then. Lyndon was safe for Caroline.

“Now, though, I fear Mama has set her sights on Harry Seward for me,” Sarah continued. “She keeps saying that the brother of an earl is better than no connection to an earl at all.”

What!
Phoebe almost leaped out of her seat. No, that could not be! Harry Seward was hers; he admired
her
.

Didn’t he?

She turned to look at Harry where he sat playing cassino. She had little experience with gentlemen, it was true, but surely she could not have imagined his admiring glances?

“And what do you think of the idea of marrying Mr. Seward?” she asked.

Sarah gave an unladylike little snort. “That is even more absurd than the idea of marrying Lord Lyndon! Why, Harry Seward would not know a first-century amphora if it hit him over the head. No, I just need to disabuse Mama of all her ridiculous notions of marrying me off.”

“I see. Yes.” Phoebe sat back against the wall, tapping her finger thoughtfully against her chin.

 

 

“Oh, my dears, I win this trick!” Amelia cried delightedly, laying down her cards. “That means Mr. Allen and I have beat you most handily, Justin.”

Justin laughed. “So you have, Mother! I fear I let Mrs. Aldritch down, after working so hard to persuade her to partner me.” He looked sheepishly at Mrs. Aldritch, who smiled as she laid down her own cards.

“It was my own fault entirely, Lord Lyndon,” she answered. “I have not played whist for so long, my skills have become quite rusty.”

“No, it is Mother’s fault for being such a cardsharper,” Justin teased.

“Lord Lyndon!” Lady Bellweather cried from the next table. “You should not say such things about your own mother. A cardsharper, indeed!”

“Nonsense, Dolly,” Lady Lyndon said, looking rather pleased at the thought of being a “sharper.” “I
am
quite a dab hand at whist. Now, my dears, I find myself in need of some refreshment.”

“Shall I fetch you some tea, Mother?” Justin said, folding his cards neatly and rising to his feet.

“So good of you, dear! Perhaps you would escort Mrs. Aldritch to the refreshment table, too? I am sure she must be fatigued after sitting for so long.”

Justin peered closely at his mother, but she looked back at him steadily, all innocence. Could she possibly have suddenly switched her matchmaking machinations from Miss Bellweather to Mrs. Aldritch?

Of course she could. And Justin found that he did not half mind the idea of being thrown together with Mrs. Aldritch. In fact, he rather liked it.

“
Would
you care to accompany me, Mrs. Aldritch?” he asked her.

“Thank you, Lord Lyndon. I think I would like some tea.” As she took his arm and they set off across the room to where the refreshments were laid out, she leaned closer and said quietly, “I would also like to find my sister. I fear I played too intently at the game, and she and Miss Bellweather have quite disappeared.”

He looked around the room quickly and saw that she was right. Miss Lane and Miss Bellweather were gone.

And so was Harry. He no longer played at the cassino table where Justin had left him after supper.

“I am afraid my brother is also missing,” he muttered.

“Oh, no! You don’t think they all would have gone off to get into some mischief, do you?” The fine, fair skin of her forehead wrinkled in a concerned frown.

“With Harry, anything is possible,” Justin answered ruefully.

“As with Phoebe. Oh, I am a terrible chaperon! I should have known better.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Aldritch. I am certain they have just gone into the library or some such place.”

“Phoebe? In a library?”

Somehow, Justin could not picture Harry there, either. “Perhaps not the library. But there are a great many other rooms in this house. I could search for them, if it would make you feel more at ease.”

She nodded decisively. “I will go with you, Lord Lyndon. I do not have a good feeling about this at all.”

 

 

“Mr. Seward! Do be careful. Those rocks look slippery,” Phoebe cried, clasping her hands together tightly as she watched Harry climb out on some rocky outcroppings over a small, sheltered cove.

He had claimed there was smugglers’ treasure hidden there, just beneath the rocks, when he had come to sit with her and Sarah after his card game ended. When he offered to show it to them, it seemed a fine lark.

Now Phoebe was not so sure. Harry’s thin-soled evening shoes slipped and slid on the wet rocks as he inched his way out.

“Oh, do be careful!” she called again.

Sarah Bellweather was more blunt. “You’re a silly fool, Harry Seward,” she said, pausing in drawing a stick through the sand to watch his hapless progress. “There’s probably no treasure there at all.”

“There is!” Harry shouted back. “I saw it just last night. Silks, no doubt, and brandy and wine.”

“Well, even if there is a treasure, I’m sure the smugglers would not take kindly to your stealing it,” Sarah said matter-of-factly. “They would probably shoot you down.”

“Shoot him!” Phoebe cried, appalled. “Oh, Mr. Seward, do come back, please.”

“Smugglers don’t frighten me, Miss Lane,” Harry answered stoutly, kneeling down and stretching his hand between an outcropping of two rocks. “I think I just about have something now. Yes, I definitely feel something—” He broke off with a high-pitched scream. “Ahhh!” he shrieked, falling down flat on his face, his hand still caught in the rocks.

“Whatever are you carrying on about?” Sarah called, her eyes wide.

“It bit off my hand!” Harry screamed in reply, flailing his black satin-clad legs about.

Phoebe felt herself tilting swiftly into hysterics. The man she was falling in love with was dying right before her eyes!

It was just like
The Sins of Lady Lydia.

She turned and fled up the incline toward the Sewards’ house, tears streaming down her face. All she could think of was finding Caroline and making her save the day, while Harry flailed and screamed and Sarah called out futile instructions to him to keep breathing.

 

 

“They are not in here.” Caroline pushed aside the last large plant in the conservatory and fell down wearily onto a wrought-iron chaise. “I feel we have searched everywhere.”

“We have, almost.” Justin brushed some flower petals from his hair and sat down in a chair next to her. “They were not in the library or the morning room or the upstairs gallery. The servants have not seen them. The only place we have not searched is the attic, and I am sure Harry would not muss his attire by going up there.”

“We did not look in the garden.”

“You can see almost the entire garden from here.”

Indeed she could. One wall of the conservatory was made of windows, and through them was the whole vista of the garden, sloping down to the sea along a gentle incline.

Caroline leaned back to survey the scene laid out before her so perfectly. It was a magical night, with the moon shining down on the manicured gardens and the wild sea beyond. The water shimmered in the silver-capped darkness.

It would be so easy to sit here in silence with Lord Lyndon—Justin—watching the scene of perfect beauty as it shifted and changed all through the night. It had been a delightful evening, and he had lulled her into a dangerous comfort with his presence.

Dangerous because if she lost her wariness, her ever-present knowledge of the secrets she had to keep, she would be so vulnerable to the spell he wove.

The spell he was weaving about her so seductively right now, just by sitting quietly beside her. She was acutely aware of his warmth, of the spicy scent of his soap.

A warm lassitude stole over her, wrought by the beautiful night, the wonderful normality of the party—and the man beside her. She wanted to turn to him, to put her arms about him and draw his lips down to hers. If she could only feel his kiss, the safety of his arms about her, holding her close....

What was she thinking of!

Caroline sat straight up, trying to shake off the sweet, seductive thoughts that wound around her. Her sister was missing, probably off getting into some mischief, and all she was doing was sitting here, dreaming of kissing the man who could expose her past and cause them ruin.

She stood up quickly, obviously startling Lord Lyndon, who looked as moonstruck as she felt.

“Per-perhaps we should search the garden anyway,” she said swiftly.

He rose to his feet, as well, standing next to her. “Of course, if you like, Mrs. Aldritch. I am sure they must be someplace close by.”

“I do not know what else to do. What if they—” She was interrupted by the faint but unmistakable sound of a scream coming from outside the conservatory.

It sounded to Caroline’s panicked ears like Phoebe. She looked about frantically for a door, but Justin was there before her, throwing open the glass door and hurrying out into the night.

Caroline followed and saw Phoebe running up the slope from the seashore, her pale green gown a flash of light against the darkness.

“Phoebe!” she cried, running toward her sister.

Tears streamed down Phoebe’s face, and her hair fell disheveled from its pins and ribbons. One lace ruffle was torn on her sleeve.

Caroline’s first, fierce thought was that Harry Seward had somehow hurt her sister, and she was going to have to kill him for it.

Phoebe reached her and threw herself, sobbing, into Caroline’s arms.

“Caro!” she wept, her cheek wet where she pressed it against the silk of Caroline’s dress. “You have to fix it!”

“Fix what, darling? What has happened?” She looked at Justin over Phoebe’s bent head and saw that his face was tight and angry in the moonlight.

Obviously, he was thinking the same thing that she was, and he was utterly furious. Perhaps she would not have to kill Harry after all; his brother would do it for her, most handily.

Caroline shook Phoebe lightly by the shoulders. “Phoebe! Stop this now, and tell me what has happened.”

Phoebe shook her head wildly, sending the rest of her curls tumbling free over her shoulders. “He is
dead
!”

“Tell me, Harry. Is your brain still in your head, or did you somehow leave it behind in London?”

Harry, seated across the library desk from Justin, slouched down deeper into his chair and pouted. “Really Justin, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Justin, completely exasperated, planted his hands firmly on the desk with a loud slap. “I am saying that anyone with a brain, with
half
a brain for that matter, would never have taken two young ladies down to the shore in the middle of the night. Anything could have happened! One of you might have been killed or seriously injured.”

Harry held up his bandaged hand. “I
was
injured! And I am in far too much pain for your hectoring.”

“Pain! You merely got your hand caught between two rocks, where you had no business putting it in the first place. Then you had such hysterics that you almost frightened poor Miss Lane to death.”

“I certainly never meant to frighten her at all,” Harry said sheepishly. “I would never hurt such a sweet angel. I merely wanted to show her and Miss Bellweather the, er, smugglers’ treasure.”