No Marriage of Convenience (19 page)

“I was robbed!” Lord Chilton announced.

“Robbed? Oh my!” Cousin Felicity said. “Were you hurt?”

“Was it a highwayman?” Louisa asked.

“Or a real devil of a cove?” Bea grinned at the very idea.

Lord Chilton held up his hands. “No, no, no,” he told them. “I am fine. But my adversary was a rare bounder, I tell you. I’ve spent the day trying to find this cheating fellow and set things right.”

“What happened?” Mason asked, hoping Chilton would get to the point.

“I was cheated out of a fortune, I tell you,” the Baron repeated. “It happened last night while I was playing piquet. I was tricked by some aging popinjay masquerading as a gentleman.”

He heard Riley cough, and when he glanced over, she looked like she was bracing herself for a disaster.

At this opportune moment, Mr. Pettibone chose to turn around from the tea service and announce, “Piquet? Did someone say piquet?”

Lord Chilton’s face immediately went from its usually florid color to a deep shade of red that suggested the man was about to suffer a fit of apoplexy. He jumped to his feet and turned toward Aggie. “
You!
What are
you
doing here?”

“Having tea with my dearest Felicity.” With that said, Aggie set the tray down in front of the lady and settled
himself back onto the sofa in the spot that had just been vacated by Lord Chilton.

The Baron huffed and sputtered for several seconds before he recovered his voice. “What is the meaning of this…this…affront? Someone call the guard. Call Bow Street. Call for the watch.” With his finger pointed at Mr. Pettibone’s nose, he declared, “This man is a criminal.”

“A criminal? How dare you make such an unfounded accusation,” Cousin Felicity snapped at her long-time suitor. “Mr. Pettibone is a welcome guest in this house. Now, sit down, my lord, before I call the watch to take you away.”

Turning to Mason, Lord Chilton said, “I ask you, sir, as a gentleman to remove this scurrilous pestilence from your house.”

Mason looked over at Riley, who sat with her face buried in her hands, as if she wished she were miles away from this scene.

And he’d been the one hoping for a bit of levity in their lives. But this? Before he could form a polite answer, Cousin Felicity launched a mighty defense for her newfound champion.

“Lord Chilton, if you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head, I will ask you to leave.” She paused for a moment and then continued. “Mr. Pettibone is a guest in this house, and more important, he is
my
guest. If you do not like the company here, I would suggest you leave.” With that, Cousin Felicity folded her arms over her bosom and turned her petite nose up in the air.

“And leave you in the clutches of this ne’er-do-well?” Lord Chilton sputtered. “Certainly not, my good lady.”

“A ne’er-do-well?” Mr. Pettibone stepped to the forefront. “Who are you calling a ne’er-do-well? I’ll have you know I am the direct descendant of—”

Before Mason could get to his feet, Riley jumped into the fray.

“—Aggie,” she interrupted, placing herself between the two combatants. “This is neither the time nor the place to recount your lineage, as fine and noble as it may be.” With her hands on her hips, she scolded Felicity’s suitors further. “I would remind you both that there are young ladies present and I would be loath to acquaint their innocent minds with a scene that may verge on inappropriate.”

Mr. Pettibone let out a great sigh, then straightened his coat. “How right you are, my dear,” he said. He turned to Cousin Felicity. “Rather than challenge your allegiance to this…this…man, my dear lady, I will make my
adieux
.” Aggie bowed to her and then to the girls, before he made an exit worthy of his forty years on the stage.

Just then Bea started to cough uncontrollably. Waving off Cousin Felicity’s offer of tea, she rose from her seat, sputtering out an “Excuse me” as she hurried out of the room.

With the door closed behind her, Bea hustled after their departing guest. “Mr. Pettibone,” she whispered. “Mr. Pettibone.”

Her quarry turned around in the empty foyer. When he spotted her, he made an elaborate bow. “Lady Beatrice.”

She rushed to his side. “Oh, Mr. Pettibone, is it true? Are you truly a sharpster at piquet?”

“My dear girl, where have you heard such lies, such deceptions, such falsehoods?”

Bea bit her lip. Perhaps she had gone too far this time. “It’s just that Lord Chilton never loses at cards, and to have beaten him—well, you must have…”

Mr. Pettibone’s gaze turned flinty hard and Bea thought for sure she had overstepped her bounds, but just as quickly, a twinkle appeared in those same eyes.

“Lady Beatrice, you are not a woman to mince words, so let us be honest with each other.” He lowered his voice. “Will you promise not to say a word to Riley?”

She nodded.

“Good girl. Riley’s got a heart made of gold, but she’s a stickler about card games.” He leaned closer. “If you must have the truth, then here it is: I cheated Lord Chilton out of every farthing I won from him last night and then some.”

She knew she should be shocked, but the words were like a magic balm to her heart. “Oh, Mr. Pettibone, that is glorious news.”

He laughed a bit and then scratched his head. “Well, that is hardly how most people would describe my rather abominable misdeed, but I am glad you find it so intriguing. Now tell me, why do you want to know?”

Bea took a deep breath and then let her story spill out in a hurried rush, and ended it with one breathless question.

“Oh, Mr. Pettibone, can you teach me to cheat at piquet?”

The man grinned from ear to ear. “For such a noble cause, I would be honored.”

T
he Dowager Countess of Marlowe sat in her morning room as she had nearly every morning for forty-five years, breakfasting on tea and toast. The only change to this regime had been the addition in recent years of a bit of preserves to her breakfast menu.

There were, after all, many more things she regretted about her life and the choices she had made than the late addition of preserves to her morning repast.

Out in the hall, the bell rattled on its hanger, announcing the arrival of a caller.

She sniffed at this breech of etiquette, since it was hardly the hour to make calls, let alone to leave a card. Yet in spite of her love of rules and order, she was glad for the interruption and the possibility of a guest.

Her maid entered the room. “Ma’am, there is a gentleman to see you. He is most insistent.” The girl took a step back, as if waiting for an ensuing explosion.

The Countess felt a tinge of guilt. Was she truly such an old dragon that she left everyone quaking in his boots? The idea both pleased and annoyed her. “Don’t leave me guessing, Regina. Who is it at this hour?”

“The Duke of Everton.”

The Countess shook her head, not sure she’d heard the girl right. “Who?”

“The Duke of Everton, my lady.” The girl fidgeted for a moment.

Why would Everton be making a social call after all these years? “Well, don’t just stand there, see him in!” the Countess snapped.

Regina retreated quickly, and moments later showed the Duke into the room.

The Countess rose and made a regal curtsey at his entrance. “Your Grace,” she said. “This is indeed an honor.”

“My lady, you look as well as ever,” he said.

“And you’ve always been a gracious liar.” She waved her hand at an empty seat at her breakfast table and nodded to Regina to bring another setting. With the Duke seated and a cup of tea poured, she waved the girl to leave and waited until the door closed behind her.

“I have never been one to waste words or time, my lady, so I will get to the point straightaway. Why did Elise go to France?”

Elise
.

No one had mentioned her daughter’s name in years. Most had forgotten she’d ever existed—which was fine for the most part with the Countess.

“Madame, I don’t mean to bring you distress, but I will have the answer I’ve waited twenty-six years to hear.”

She took a tentative sip of her tea, trying to find a way to evade Everton. But the man was a duke and unused to being denied answers.

“You know why Elise went to France. She wanted to visit one of my husband’s cousins. And I saw nothing wrong in sending her before she accepted your hand.” She didn’t look him in the eye, rather picked up her spoon and stirred another lump of sugar into her tea.

“That, Madame, is a lie.” He paused for a moment, then rose from his seat and began to pace around the room. With his back to her, he said in a melancholy voice, “I loved Elise. I know she never cared for me that way, but I loved her all the same. And while you’ve done your best to see that she is forgotten by society, I never have. Not her smile, nor the way she walked, nor her green eyes. I loved her then, I love her still. You owe me the truth.”

A chill spread down the lady’s spine. He knew. Somehow he knew.

He turned around, and the Countess’s heart began to thrum with a wild cadence.

The Duke leaned over the table and stared directly at her. “But I will ask you one more time. Why did Elise go to France?”

Clamping her lips shut, the lady could only shake her head. She couldn’t betray her daughter’s shame. She hadn’t then, she wouldn’t now.

He nodded. “I thought so.” He paced a few more steps and stopped before the garden door, staring out at the early roses blooming in their ordered rows. “Well, if you refuse to speak, then let’s discuss something else. Are you coming to my masquerade?”

The Countess shook her head. “You know I don’t go out anymore.”

“I had hoped you would make an exception this year. There is a young woman I would like you to meet.”

An uneasy silence grew between them, until finally the Countess asked, “What do I care for these young chits they pass off as ladies? ’Tis part of why I don’t go out much. I can’t stand to see their simpering, mincing manners.”

“I think you might make an exception in this case.” He turned and faced her, his gaze intent.

“And why is that?” she snapped, more than a little unnerved at this entire interview.

“Because she is Elise’s daughter.”

The noise in the house grew more raucous with each passing minute.

Mason glanced up from his desk. What the devil was that woman concocting now? A week in his house and she’d created a new form of chaos every single day.

And the girls! She’d wrought a miracle with the girls. He’d heard Beatrice curse only twice in the last three days, and moreover, she’d apologized profusely for each slip. Maggie hadn’t broken anything in the past twenty-four hours, and Louisa had even offered to help Cousin Felicity with her mending.

Louisa sewing?

He was starting to think Riley had made a bargain with the devil and found him new nieces.

Still, that didn’t excuse this constant tromping overhead. He was trying to save his family from ruin, and she was making it impossible for him to concentrate. Not that close attention would change matters. His creditors were pressing for payment to the point that he couldn’t put them off any longer. Even the promise of the play’s profits wasn’t enough.

To date his investigation into Riley’s stalker had come up empty-handed. If he was going to find her deadly enemy he’d need more resources.

He needed cash.

And Miss Pindar presented his only likely solution. All it would take was a special license and a quick trip to the parson and he’d have enough money to finance the girls’ Season and restore Sanborn Abbey and the lands around the estate.

There has to be another way
, he thought, sifting through Freddie’s investments one more time.

Overhead, the racket rose to a new level of irritation.

“Belton! What is that infernal clamor?”

Mason waited for a response. And waited, and waited a little longer. He rose from his seat and made for the foyer. “Belton?” To his shock and chagrin, the ever-present butler was not at his post.

In fact, no one was about. The entire ground floor was empty, while upstairs in the ballroom, it sounded as if they were entertaining half the
ton
.

Practice, hah! She was throwing some type of bacchanalian revel, by the sound of it.

Well, enough was enough.

He took the stairs two at a time. As he came to the open doors of the ballroom, his anger turned to a stunned silence.

The ballroom had been transformed into a forest of silk trees. In the middle of this fanciful woods stood Louisa, dressed in a simple white gown, her blond hair unbound and falling down to her waist.

“If only my dreams could come true,” the girl was saying, “I would see my Geoffroi again.”

A young man dressed like a woodcutter came forward out of the trees and fell to his knees. “I am only imagining this. ’Tis some fairy magic or curse. For there is my true love, Aveline. Come to me, if you are real.”

“I am, and ever shall be, your Aveline,” Louisa said, rushing to the man’s open arms.

For a moment there was silence, then the room echoed in a deafening thunder of applause.

The cheers and whistles startled Mason out of his awestruck reverie for the sights before him, as now he realized that the entire company of the Queen’s Gate sat around
the edges of their mock stage watching the performance, as well as the bulk of his household staff.

“Excellent! Very good, Louisa,” Riley said, coming forward, an open book in her hands. She jotted down a few notes and then looked around. “Now I think we need to go over the pirate scene again. From the top of Act Two.”

There were general groans and complaints, but Riley didn’t seem to hear them, as she ordered the scenery changed and the players to their feet.

Mason slipped into the room and found himself standing beside none other than Belton.

“Uh, my lord,” Belton stuttered. “I was just about to put a halt to this decadence. A shocking display. Hardly appropriate for the girls to be watching, let alone participating in. Shall I make them stop?”

Mason almost laughed, for Belton sounded about as convincing as Cousin Felicity did when she came home with bundles of packages and claims of not having visited her dressmaker—though he did have a point about the propriety of Louisa’s practicing with the players.

Mason would have called a halt to the entire charade if it hadn’t been for one thing. Louisa’s face shone with a smile the likes of which he hadn’t seen in years. Not the cattish, sulky turn of her lips he’d grown used to, but a genuine smile. The kind he remembered about her when she’d been a little girl and would rush to his arms for a hug and the required present of candy he always brought her from Oxford when he visited Sanborne Abbey during the holidays.

The center of attention, she wasn’t selfishly basking in it, demanding her due; rather, she appeared to be having the time of her life playing the impetuous Aveline, the role Mason knew was Riley’s.

“Should I start over here, Riley?” she was asking, plac
ing herself between two actors, one of whom was wearing an eye patch to distinguish him as a pirate.

Riley nodded. “Yes, that is perfect. Now just like you practiced.”

Louisa launched into her lines, with an earnest gusto and a surprising amount of talent.

“She’s quite good,” Mason muttered.

“A rousing performance, my lord,” Belton said. “Most convincing.”

Yet it wasn’t Louisa’s performance holding Mason’s rapt attention; it was the director. His gaze kept wandering over to the woman pacing along the imaginary border of the stage, script in hand, her steady gaze focused intently on the action before her.

Dressed in a plain muslin gown, she was hardly the silken minx who’d appeared in his study all these days ago. With her hair pulled back in a simple chignon, tendrils slipping down here and there, and a sensible pair of shoes on her feet, she looked more country farm wife than celebrated Cyprian.

What he marveled at was how she seemed to move with each line, pulling the play in and out of the actors as if she were breathing for them.

Nothing slipped past her sharp gaze: the stance of a pirate, Aveline’s gown, the way a line should and should not be intoned. She nurtured the story from her company the way a mother coaxed a baby to take its first steps.

Her smile when the scene moved perfectly touched his heart, and he pitied the players who garnered her frown for flubbed lines or disjointed movements. Without even realizing it, he found that he’d whiled away an hour just watching her work.

And work hard, with purpose, he noted with a self-conscious twinge.

When she stepped into the scene and started to play the role of Aveline to demonstrate how it should be done, she took his breath away with her power to transform herself so artlessly. ’Twas a magical moment when Riley faded to the background and the character she played came rising to the surface.

What she did so effortlessly Mason knew came through discipline and intelligence.

This was no woman of leisure, no pampered feline awaiting her lover and her next bauble from Rundell and Bridge; this was a woman whose livelihood and welfare revolved around making this play and these players a success.

Riley worked—worked hard to make her vocation a success.

And it shamed Mason to think that he couldn’t say the same about his life.

So lost in his own musings, he didn’t notice that Riley had made her way to his side.

“She’s very good,” she said. “You St. Clairs have a flair for the dramatic.”

“What?” Mason asked, realizing that he’d been lost in thought.

“Louisa,” Riley said, nodding at his niece, who was even now reciting Aveline’s soliloquy from memory. “She’s a natural. I hope you don’t mind me using her. Ginny usually stands in for me when we do these rehearsals so I can see the play, but she’s sick and couldn’t make it.”

Mason gazed for a moment at his niece. “No, I don’t mind.”

Riley grinned. “If she weren’t the daughter of an earl, I’d cast her as Aveline right this moment.”

“But that’s your part,” Mason said.

“Yes,” Riley said, “but look at her. She is Aveline, especially with Roderick playing Geoffroi. Together, they have something very special. As if they were star-crossed lovers.”

Mason watched his niece for a moment and realized how right Riley was. It wasn’t just Louisa, but Roderick as well. As the two young actors read their lines, they made their audience believe them, as if they truly longed to be together.

Perhaps a little too much.

“Oh, my dearest Aveline,” Roderick said, pulling Louisa into his arms. “I swear there is nothing that will keep us apart.”

Louisa, playing her role with more enthusiasm than was entirely necessary, clung to Roderick, her body melding to his and her gaze glowing with passion. “I forsake my honor, my family, my duty, everything but you, my love.”

Roderick’s arms tightened, drawing Louisa even closer. The entire room stilled, as if enthralled and entranced by these mismatched and imperiled lovers. “One kiss, sweet Aveline. A single kiss to seal our destiny.”

As the young actor bent his lips to Louisa’s, Mason realized that the young man actually meant to kiss her—and Louisa meant to kiss him back.

“Just a minute there,” Mason said, feeling for the first time the paternal pangs of watching a daughter grow up. He rushed forward and separated the two. “That’s enough for today. You’ve done an excellent job, Louisa, but I fear Cousin Felicity needs your immediate assistance.”

“But Uncle,” Louisa protested, her eyes still fixed on her Geoffroi.

“No excuses. You’ve been a great help to Riley, but now Cousin Felicity needs your assistance.”

“No, I don’t, Mason,” Cousin Felicity piped up.

Mason groaned. How had he missed her? It was easy to see why, for she’d hidden away in the corner of the room, cozied up next to Mr. Pettibone.