Miss Pymbroke's Rules (20 page)

The cat purred in answer.

Digby appeared at the glass doors to the morning room. “My lord, a Mr. Flanders has called. I believe he is with the company doing the restoration work on your lordship’s family portraits.”

The marquess rose to his feet. “Show him into the morning room, Digby.”

Empress followed Lord Carrisworth through the open door into the house and promptly found a gold velvet-covered chair—-the most comfortable in the room—and stretched out on its plump seat.

A moment later a thin, tall man with light hair entered with a servant who carried a painting wrapped in protective paper. “Good day to you, my lord. I am Mr. Flanders.” He bowed low. “I thought your lordship would like to see some of the work I have done for you.”

The marquess gave a nod of assent.

Mr. Flanders snapped his fingers at the servant who then unwrapped the painting.

Lord Carrisworth instantly felt a knot form in his stomach. He gritted his teeth and braced himself for the jolt of pain he still experienced every time he saw his mother’s face.

“A beautiful lady,” Mr. Flanders was saying while he propped the painting up against a chair. “It was a privilege to restore her portrait, my lord. Is she perhaps an older sister? Her emerald-colored gown appears to be a fashion of perhaps twenty years ago—

“My mother,” the marquess bit out tersely, cutting off the man’s stream of chatter. “You have performed your services satisfactorily, Mr. Flanders. I trust you will repair the other paintings equally as well.”

“Yes, my lord.” Mr. Flanders blinked at this abrupt dismissal. “I shall just wrap the portrait and be on my way.”

“Leave it,” Lord Carrisworth commanded.

The two men bowed and left the morning room. The marquess left the portrait where it was and sat on the gold satin sofa opposite where the painting was placed. He stared at his mother’s features, his own like granite.

Digby entered the room, drawing back a bit when he saw the look on his lordship’s face. “I am sorry to disturb you, but Mr. Flanders said he found this in the back of the painting. He forgot to give it to you just now.”

The butler extended a silver salver upon which sat a yellowed piece of parchment tied with a frayed blue ribbon.

The marquess accepted the missive and Digby left, closing the door behind him.

His expression hard and set, Lord Carrisworth tossed the unopened paper onto an occasional table placed at the end of the sofa. He had a strong feeling he did not wish to know its contents.

The very second the missive landed on the polished wood, Empress bounded from her chair, ran the length of the sofa, jumped across his lordship’s lap and onto the table, which rocked ominously under the cat’s weight. She pounced on the ribbons of the missive, grabbing one end in her dainty jaws, and dashed under the sofa with it before the marquess could do more than stare.

“For God’s sake!” Lord Carrisworth got down on his knees and looked under the sofa. Empress crouched with the missive between her paws. Her slanted blue eyes challenged him.

The marquess was never one to walk away from a challenge. He lunged for the paper and took it away, managing to escape with only a minor scratch from Empress’s sharp claws for his trouble. Empress materialized from under the sofa and walked, stiff with outrage at the loss of her toy, through the open door to the garden.

Lord Carrisworth returned to his seat on the sofa and stared down at the paper, which he now saw was addressed to him in a feminine handwriting. Slowly, he pushed the ribbon aside and opened the parchment. Noticing the letter was dated over thirteen years ago, he took a deep breath and began to read.

London, 14 April, 1800

My dear Perry—

I write this on the eve of the day I shall finally be able to be with the Gentleman I have loved since I was seventeen. No one in England knows of our Plans as we have been very careful not to be Found Out.

Allow me to begin at the beginning. During my first Season in London I fell Unalterably in Love with Nigel, and he with me. Before we could become betrothed, a Scheming woman named Josephine, who wanted Nigel for his title and money, managed to lure him under False Pretenses into the deserted Library at a Ball. He saw her Plan almost instantly but the lady was too clever for him. Her Mama conveniently came upon them and threatened a Scandal. My Nigel was forced to marry Josephine.

I was inconsolable. Not caring who I married, I agreed when my parents chose your father, Arthur. He was so much older than I, and I believed him a wise man.

Although not many people knew Nigel and I were in love, Arthur somehow heard. Immediately after our wedding, he took me away from my family and everyone I knew to live in his house in Yorkshire. It was a lonely existence. My first happy moment came two years later, my son, when you were born. At least one good thing had come of my marriage—you.

I spent the next seventeen years trying to please your father, but I do not think he ever got over the fact that I had been in love with another man. You know, my dear, he could be Fearsome when he was angry. He often Forbade me from even seeing you, feeling it best you were raised by Nurse and later your Tutor. Then you were sent away to Eton. I often felt we had never been allowed to become Close. But know, Perry, that I have always Loved you.

Arthur finally brought me back to London one month ago. He wished you to see the Town before going to Oxford. At the very first party we attended I met Nigel. My dear, it was as if the almost twenty years in between had never happened. Of course, many things had changed. Before she died, Josephine had given him a daughter who was now grown and married to an army man. Nigel, thinking me lost to him Forever, as well as being Deeply in Debt, had married again and they have a little girl who is seven years old.

We did make a feeble attempt to stay away from each other, but found after we had both spent our lives in loveless marriages, we could no longer be Separated. Nigel insisted my name not be linked to his. He has paid an actress called Mary Jennings, who is preparing to retire to the country under another name, to put it about that it is she who is running away with him.

Perhaps you will think us selfish for wanting to be together. I shall not blame you if you do.

I have had the most awful Premonition I may never see you again, Perry dear, and could not bear the thought of your not knowing the truth. Please Forgive Me.

The letter was signed “Your Loving Mama.”

The Marquess of Carrisworth sank down against the back of the sofa. He leaned his head back, covered his eyes with one hand, and allowed the missive to drop into his lap.

All the years since his mother left her family, he had believed her heartless and uncaring—a belief encouraged by his bitter father.

Memories from his childhood came to him. It was true he had often seen his mother weeping, but had been told by his father that women used tears to get their own way. He saw now that these convictions had hardened him, causing him to put up a shield between himself and the world.

A true picture of his family sprang into clear focus. Trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who tyrannized her, his mother had done her best, but had been miserable. While he would always regret not being close to her, it was comforting to know she too grieved the distance his father had demanded be put between them.

And his mother had loved him.

Poor Mama. Could he really blame her for grasping the one chance she thought she had at happiness, one that had, after all, ended in death when she’d run away with her true love, Verity’s father?

Verity’s father
. Oh, dear God. Perry sat up on the sofa only to drop forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands. How could he explain to Verity it was his mother that her father had run away with all those years ago? How would she react to the intelligence?

He remembered her work with the actresses and perceived how deeply wounded she was by her father’s betrayal of his family. Knowing that it was his mother whom her father had loved, would Verity turn against him?

For a moment he toyed with the idea of not telling her. She need never know. But almost immediately he realized the foolishness of such a plan. Someday, although it was not likely, she might find out. Then, she would know he had deceived her—and Verity’s high standards would forbid her from associating with him after such dishonesty.

His muscles tensed. No, he could not bear an estrangement between them.

The frozen barrier inside him had melted away with the gift of his mother’s letter and the new understanding of his life and feelings. In its place was the sure knowledge that he loved Verity. There could be no secrets between them.

Lord Carrisworth remained where he was. He needed a few minutes to compose himself, and then he would go and tell her the truth.

* * * *

The ladies next door sat in the drawing room.

Downstairs before noon for the first time in memory, Lady Hyacinth was still excited about her conquest of Lord Killigrew at the Tremaines’ ball. “I’m certain the gentleman will call on me this morning. I do hope he’ll bring sweetmeats rather than flowers.”

Lady Iris’s mouth puckered, and she cast her sister a fulminating glare. She was sick to death of Hyacinth’s boasting.

Verity stabbed a needle into a piece of stitchery deemed worthless by virtue of the fact its creator’s mind was on a pair of teasing green eyes and a mouth that made her senses swim.

Lady Hyacinth patted her red curls. “Yes, any minute now we shall receive word of Lord Killigrew’s arrival.”

As if in answer to the statement, the double doors to the drawing room were thrown open and a wide-eyed Betty rushed inside. “Mrs. Barrington has gone!”

Verity’s stitchery dropped to the floor as she rose to her feet in alarm. “What? Surely you mean gone out driving or shopping?”

Betty shook her head vehemently. “No, miss. I mean her bed ain’t been slept in. And all her gowns are missin’. I found this letter addressed to you on the mantel in her room.”

With a trembling hand Verity accepted the parchment and dismissed Betty. Unfolding the paper she began to read the contents out loud. “Dear Mouse, I am off on my travels again this time with a new husband—”

Verity broke off, her hand flying to her throat. Lady Hyacinth gasped, and Lady Iris thumped her cane on the floor. “Read on, gel! Don’t keep us in suspense.”

Verity swallowed hard and continued. “After Sir Ramsey left me so cruelly at the ball last night, a kind, older gentleman comforted me. We sat in a deserted room and came to know each other quite well. At length we decided that nothing would serve other than for us to fly to Gretna Green and be married at once. Afterward, we plan to travel to the continent. I expect I shall be away for a long time as he is most amorous. Goodbye, little sister. The next time I see you, Mouse, you will call me Lady Killigrew. Yours, etc.”

A sharp cry sounded from Lady Hyacinth and she beat her fists on the settee cushion. “Monster! Philandering old roué! Arch-fiend!”

Lady Iris ignored the sounds of her sister sobbing into a large handkerchief and instead studied her shocked young friend. “Now, Verity, this is the best possible thing that could have happened to Louisa. You and I both know she was fast on the road to ruin. Indeed, I wonder just what went on in that deserted room with Lord Killigrew that forced this hasty marriage. But in any event, you may take comfort in the fact that his lordship has his title, forty thousand a year, and his estates are in good heart. Keep in mind that an older husband will be more tolerant of any diversions Louisa might indulge in.”

Verity sighed and nodded. “I agree, my lady. It is just the suddenness of it all. Do comfort Lady Hyacinth. I believe I shall go to my rose garden. It is always a place where I can gather my thoughts.”

Verity walked out of the room, and for once Lady Iris took pity on Lady Hyacinth. “Hush, Sister. ’Twas surely that his lordship believed he could not have you which forced him into Louisa’s clutches.”

Lady Hyacinth raised a tear-stained face. “Do you really think so, Iris?”

Lady Iris pulled her sister close and allowed her to cry on her shoulder. “Of course! Men were always such damn fools.”

It was fortunate Lady Hyacinth could not see Lady Iris roll her eyes to the heavens.

* * * *

Outside in the sunshine, Verity wandered through her rose garden, pausing here and there to examine a new bloom. Although she had been considerably shaken by the news of Louisa’s elopement, she deemed Lady Iris’s view of the situation straightforward. She must wish the best for Louisa and Lord Killigrew and go on with her own life.

Maybe her future would include the Marquess of Carrisworth.

Her gaze shifted from the deep red petals of a flower to the open door of her morning room. Inside, she could see his lordship sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands. Verity moved forward and stopped a few feet from the doorway, unobserved by him. She frowned, thinking he appeared troubled.

Then she saw the portrait placed beside a nearby chair. From her vantage point, Verity could see the likeness of the lady clearly. A wave of shock swept through her.

It was the woman of the miniature she had found in her father’s room. She was sure of it. But no, she thought, shaking her head in confusion, how could that be? Verity’s mind reeled.

She lifted the skirts of her pale pink morning gown and silently hurried back to Lady Iris’s. She entered the house and dashed up the stairs to her room. Fumbling with the handle of the drawer where she had tossed the miniature to keep the ribbon away from Empress, Verity reached in and grasped the small portrait.

The woman’s sad eyes stared back at her.

Totally baffled, Verity clutched the miniature in her hand and flew back down the stairs determined to confront the marquess. Voices in the drawing room prevented her from going out the back way. She pulled open the front door and, unmindful of her flustered appearance, quickly covered the distance between the two townhouses.

Digby opened the door to her, and Verity rushed past without a word to the startled butler. She burst into the morning room, surprising the marquess, who jumped to his feet. “Miss Pymbroke, what is wrong?”