Moon Dreams (5 page)

He seemed to know a great deal about everything, but little
enough about her. Alyson shrugged. “I have no other address other than that.
Mr. Farnley will help me.

Rory rolled his eyes skyward. “You have come all the way
across country with no other address than the solicitor’s? What if you had
arrived by night? Did you expect him to be there then? Have you no relatives,
no friends you can call on? Are you really quite as mad as you seem, Miss
Hampton?”

“It isn’t night, so there’s no need to worry, is there?” she
replied practically. “I’m certain Mr. Farnley will understand when I explain.
There is still the matter of my cousin, though. I really do think I should
change my name.”

The Maclean rubbed his temple with an expression of
frustration. “Miss Hampton, for your sake, I hope you have some powerful relative
who will chop off your cousin’s head if he bothers you again. Until then, let
me give you the address of my aunt. You will need a companion who knows her way
around, and she might be helpful. If you will allow me . . .” He
took her card and with a stub of lead scrawled the direction under the
solicitor’s.

Alyson smiled. The Maclean was looking at her as if he
couldn’t decide whether to eat her or strangle her, but she felt confident he
would do neither. He really was a nice man for all that he tried to be an irascible
curmudgeon.

She gazed with wonder at the vendors weaving their carts
through the street, hawking their wares while ragged urchins dodged in and out.
Watching a maid in an upper-story window empty a slop jar into the street
below, she wondered how all this mass of humanity came together in these narrow
streets without killing each other. She had never seen so many people in her
entire life.

When the chaise finally arrived in front of the impressive
facade of the law offices of Farnley and Farnley, Rory felt leapt down from the
carriage and assisted her to step out.

Instead of releasing his hand once she was on the street,
Alyson continued to hold it, and studied the Maclean’s face. He wasn’t handsome
like Alan, but she liked the strength of his square jaw and broad cheekbones.
She wondered what it would be like to be kissed by lips as hard and . . .
Her mind sought the word that described the slight fullness of his lower lip.
Sensual? She shivered in pleasure, and her smile widened.

“I shall never forget your kindness, Lord Maclean.”

Stunned almost to a state of shock by the full brunt of her
devastating smile, Rory shook his head and asked, “Will you tell me how you
knew I am laird?”

Alyson removed her hand from his grip and righted her cloak.
“You told me, of course.”

Rory suffered a pang of regret at parting from the only
angel heaven would ever send to him. In thirty-six hours of her company he had
become as daft as she, to let a lovely heiress escape his arms. Perhaps he was
building up credit in heaven.

Rory tried one last time. “I gave you my name, lassie, not
my title. It is not a thing I throw about, under the circumstances.”

Alyson frowned and touched a gentle finger to his jaw. “’Tis
time now that you begin. The Maclean is a proud name and title. You wear it
well.”

Then, as if she had said nothing any more astonishing than
farewell, she swept up the polished marble steps to the solicitor’s office and
out of his life.

***

Farnley was startled to discover that the shabby
maidservant drifting into his chambers was actually the lovely Cornish heiress
he’d left behind just days ago. He kept removing his spectacles and rubbing his
eyes, but the vision didn’t change.

When he fully grasped her tale of the new earl’s actions, he
surmised she must be suffering maidenly hysterics. A gentleman wouldn’t behave
in such a manner. But she was a wealthy client, and he wouldn’t dispute her version.
He polished his spectacles again.

“Well, you certainly have every right to set up your own
household, Miss Hampton, every right indeed. Of course, a young unmarried lady
will need a suitable companion. I am certain you must have other cousins we can
consult . . .”

Alyson drew out the card the Maclean had scribbled on and
handed it to the solicitor. “This lady was recommended to me. Do you know her?”

Farnley studied the card. “Lady Campbell? Yes, of course,
but . . .”

All the objections that came to mind would have no impact on
this young woman. Lady Campbell had been a suspected Jacobite in her youth and
had escaped the full process of law only because of her Tory husband. Since her
widowhood, she had lived on the thin edges of poverty. There was no questioning
the lady’s good breeding, however, and in a day when morality was something to
be discussed philosophically but seldom practiced, Lady Campbell had a
faultless reputation. Farnley gave up the battle without a fight.

Standing, he picked up his hat and offered his arm. “Come,
we will visit the lady and see what she recommends.”

***

In one of the older residential districts, the Campbell
house’s narrow facade was squeezed in between a palatial limestone mansion and
a small church. The window frames lacked paint, Alyson observed, but the front
step was well-scrubbed. The maid answering the door appeared equally scrubbed
and cheerful. She bobbed a curtsy, led the visitors into a small parlor, and
carried Mr. Farnley’s card away on a silver salver.

Garbed in a simple lutestring sacque of dove gray adorned
with a handful of pink silk roses, the lady who joined them appeared almost doll-like,
but possessed the presence of a royal duchess.

Mr. Farnley made a leg and bowed. After the first
courtesies, he brought Alyson forward. The lady’s gaze swept from Alyson’s face
to her indescribable clothes without comment.

“Lady Campbell, I would like to present to you Miss Alyson
Hampton, granddaughter of the late Earl of Cranville. She has come up from
Cornwall after her grandfather’s death. She has few acquaintances here, and it
has been recommended that she be put under the protection of a suitable
companion. Your name being mentioned, Miss Hampton asked that we discuss the
issue with you first.”

Lady Campbell’s blue eyes lit with fascination, but she
revealed no surprise as she offered seats to her guests and perched on the edge
of a striped brocade settee. “Might I inquire as to who recommended me?”

Alyson met her gaze with ease. “Your nephew, my lady. He was
most courteous in my behalf, and I respect his opinion. I trust I have not been
too forward in responding to his suggestion.”

Lady Campbell laughed delightedly. Her dancing gaze swept
from the staid solicitor and back to Alyson. “Of course, he mentioned some such
to me, but I paid no mind to it. He is quite right, though, child. We shall
suit. Mr. Farnley, I am certain you and my solicitor can work out whatever
arrangements are necessary, but I should think Miss Hampton ought to come to
me, immediately. The poor child needs a tub and a maid and a good sleep.”

In a flurry of maternal fluttering, she pried Alyson from
her solicitor and charmed him into saving any messy material details to another
date. In a matter of minutes Alyson became a fixture in the shabby but genteel
Campbell household.

***

Within a fortnight both the Campbell residence and Alyson
had taken on a new polish. With amazement and a judicious dollop of amusement, Alyson
stared at her London reflection in her full-size gilt-framed mirror. While the
house had acquired new carpets and draperies and a discreet servant or two, she
had acquired a powdered coiffure with lovely fat sausage curls and any number
of gowns. This one tonight was the most extravagant.

Alyson admired the yards of white satin brocade embroidered
in gold threads that made up her coming-out gown. The Maclean had known what he
was doing by sending her to his aunt. Whatever recompense Farnley had offered
Lady Campbell for introducing Alyson to society had decidedly improved the lady’s
financial standing. Alyson had no objection to the lady profiting from the
arrangement, since she herself had done so well by it. She would never have
dared to order a gown like this on her own.

The elbow-length sleeves dripped with fine lace. Gold bows
accented the shoulders and were repeated again in the long train of the
robe
à la française,
which was
held up by wire side hoops at her waist. Her gold stomacher narrowed her
waistline, and the corset pushed her breasts to a fullness that matched that of
the grandest of ladies she had seen in the park. Staring at the image in the
mirror, Alyson decided this was a more effective disguise than any she could
have created. No one would recognize the elegant young lady in the mirror as
the earl’s bastard granddaughter.

She wrinkled her nose at the powdered hair. It was the
height of French fashion, the hairdresser had assured her. None of the other
ladies had tried it yet, but it was perfect for
mademoiselle,
whose own
hair was so full and luxuriant. Why hide behind the tight curls of old ladies?
Alyson lifted a fat curl and decided it added to the disguise. Besides, it made
her feel very sophisticated.

She needed the courage of sophistication to survive the
evening ahead. Lady Campbell had decided Alyson was ready to meet society
and
had devised a small party just for her introduction. Of course, over these last
few weeks Alyson had met many new people, but she still wasn’t ready. What
could Lady Campbell say that would coerce all society into accepting a female
marked with the bar sinister?

Alyson lifted her skirts and followed the maid who summoned
her. The ballroom was on the third floor, but Lady Campbell—Deirdre as she’d
been told to call her—waited for her in the newly refurbished salon in the
family quarters. What the house lacked in width it made up for in depth and
height, and Alyson had time to feel excitement build before she reached the
designated salon.

She heard voices behind the panel, but the maid rapped on
the door, leaving her no time to hesitate. At a call from within, the maid
opened the door and left Alyson on her own.

The man dominating the room’s center clenched his glass and
stared as she entered.

Alyson’s smile of delight at seeing the Maclean again
faltered when he said nothing, but continued to study her. She threw an
uncertain glance at Lady Campbell, who merely shook her head. Alyson returned
his rude stare.

His clothes had certainly improved since she’d seen him last.
He was wearing one of the new elegant coats with the narrower skirt, and the fashionably
short vest emphasized his narrow hips and flat belly. The dark blue velvet of
the coat contrasted nicely with the paler blue of the vest and breeches, and
the freshly starched lawn jabot and lace at his cuffs accented the dark
coloring of his face and hands. He looked every inch the Maclean tonight, and
that included the silver hilt of the sword at his side.

The smile forming on the lips of his tousled angel as she
returned his rude stare nearly turned Rory’s tongue to mush. Deirdre had warned
him of the change, but nothing could prepare him for this. The innocent cherub
who had slept in his arms had become a much more worldly angel in satin and
bows, but to Rory she still appeared to have wings and a halo. Where before she
had been all heather and mist, now she was the sparkling, crystalline drifts of
Ben Nevis in winter. My God, he was taking leave of his senses, and she had not
yet said a word!

Grateful for the first time in his life for the polite
rituals of etiquette learned at his mother’s knee so long ago, Rory took her
hand in his own and bowed over it. Small fingers curled trustingly around his
rough ones, and when he straightened, he could see the misty moors in her eyes
again. Homesickness welled up in him, but he had learned to deal with that
emotion long ago. Bracing himself, he smiled coolly.

“Miss Hampton, I can scarcely credit it. Are you certain you
are the same person who shared bannocks and spelding with me in a public coach?”

Alyson lifted her fan to her chin. “No, sir, that was some
other man, I do believe. Should I know you?”

Lady Campbell laughed. “Lady Alyson Hampton, may I make
known to you my roguish nephew, Lord Rory Douglas Maclean, who has consented to
come out of hiding to escort you tonight.”

Knowing of the heiress’s questionable ancestry, he raised a
skeptical eyebrow at her title, but he wasn’t so indiscreet as to question it.
Instead, Alyson did it for him, amazingly reading his mind when she could
seldom answer an openly phrased question.

“Mr. Farnley said I was legally adopted, and Lady Campbell
insists on the formality. I think the theory is that if I wear a cloak of
respectability, then I must be respectable. Would you agree?”

So she was not simpleminded at all. That was a relief. He
had difficulty making light conversation as it was. To do it with a simpleton
was beyond his capabilities.

“My lady, if it is respectability you strive for, you have
found the wrong escort. Shall I make my bows now and leave you to more suitable
admirers?”

She made a wry face. “I fear we are in every way suited, my
lord, both of us hiding behind false fronts. Bow out only if Deirdre has
coerced you into this against your better judgment.”

Rory took her hand and slid it through the crook of his
elbow. “If you think I’ll let you out of my sight, you must think me a lunatic.
Shall we go, ladies?”

He offered his other arm to his aunt, who accepted it. The
wide hoops of the women’s skirts swayed like thistledown, making it nearly impossible
for him to stay at their side, but Rory managed the maneuver without disgracing
himself.

***

Rory noted that his notoriety ensured that Alyson was engaged
all evening with whispered questions that stopped as soon as he approached. Her
rumored wealth certainly kept him occupied with the gentlemen after dinner.
London society was fully engaged in sorting and placing them in appropriate
niches.