One Night Of Scandal (12 page)

As well as her own.

The carriage made a sharp turn onto a long, curving drive paved with rough stones. As Lottie tilted her face skyward, her new home loomed in her vision. Hayden might be this house's master, but she would soon be its mistress.

Even by Sterling's standards, the Elizabethan manor with its sprawling wings and central court was a grand house. Although its steeply gabled roof was peppered with a plethora of brick chimneys, only a few plumes of smoke drifted skyward to mingle with the clouds. With no sunlight to reflect, its generous expanse of mullioned windows gleamed with the dull ennui of half-shuttered eyes. The house didn't appear to be dead, but simply slumbering beneath the same dark spell as the bruised sky and the windswept moor. Lottie shivered, wondering if the sun ever shone in this place.

As the carriage rocked to a halt, the front door of the house swung open and over two dozen servants came marching out, dutifully taking their places at the foot of the front steps to welcome home their master and his new bride. Lottie wondered at their numbers. A house this size should boast a staff of at least fifty.

Shyness had never been one of her failings, but she was suddenly reluctant to emerge from the snug cocoon of the carriage. Being a marquess's bride was one thing, but taking her place as his wife was quite another. She took her time securing the cats in their basket, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt, straightening her hat. Finally, the carriage door swung open. It wasn't the coachman or a footman extending a hand in invitation, but Hayden himself.

Pasting on a brave smile, she took his hand and descended the carriage steps. The wind whipped the maidservants' aprons into a flapping frenzy and forced Lottie to secure her hat with her other hand. As they approached the house, Hayden scanned the rows of servants, a troubled expression on his face. Aside from their scant numbers, Lottie could find nothing amiss. From the distinguished butler and tall, scrawny head housekeeper with the ring of keys at her waist to the liveried footmen and blushing, apple-cheeked maidservants, they might have been the staff of any nobleman's country estate.

"Welcome home, my lord," the butler intoned, stepping forward. "The baggage carts have already arrived and been unloaded."

"Very good, Giles," Hayden murmured, although his expression lost none of its edge.

Several of the younger maids were gaping at Lottie with open curiosity. Surely Hayden had instructed the servants traveling with the baggage carts to prepare the rest of the staff for his bride's arrival.

Hadn't he?

Before he could formally introduce her, a plump, sun-browned partridge of a woman came striding around the corner of the house. Her arrival wouldn't have been so remarkable if she hadn't been dragging a young lady of approximately ten years of age… by her ear.

Hayden went rigid and Lottie could not help staring. The servants all gazed straight ahead, as if this were an ordinary, everyday occurrence in their lives.

Although her jaw was set in sullen defiance, the girl didn't let out so much as a squeak of protest as her captor marched her to the front of the servants, halting her directly in front of Hayden. The woman planted her beefy hands on the girl's shoulders to keep her from bolting.

The child was tall, yet painfully thin, with sharp features that might one day be considered striking. Her mane of dark hair was the largest thing about her, framing her face like a hedgerow allowed to grow wild. Lottie's fingers itched for a comb and a ribbon, although a garden hoe and a rope might produce more satisfying results. If Cookie were here, she'd insist upon force-feeding the child a steady diet of gingerbread and plum puddings to fatten her up.

Although it appeared considerable effort had been wielded to make the girl presentable, one of her stockings had slipped down around her ankle. Her blue pinafore was rumpled and marred by grass stains while its matching ribbon had slid halfway down her back, freeing her hair to fall in her face.

There was something oddly familiar about that face. Something about the stubborn set of her jaw, the wary look in her striking violet eyes, the sulky curl of her lip…

Lottie shook off the fancy. Judging from her disarray, she must be one of the servants' children or perhaps an orphan adopted from some nearby village. Sterling had taken in such waifs upon occasion, providing charity and an education until they were old enough to take their place in the servants' hierarchy.

The woman beamed up at Hayden as if the jovial twinkle in her brown eyes could somehow offset the child's petulance. "Welcome home, Master Hayden. We're glad to have you back. I trust you found everything on your journey that you were seeking?" She shifted her smile to Lottie, her freckled nose crinkling.

Although the woman's familiarity caught her off guard, Lottie could not help returning the warm smile.

"On the contrary, Martha," Hayden replied, thetrace of irony in his voice unmistakable. "I found far more than I was seeking."

"We can see that," the girl blurted out, shaking the hair out of her eyes with a defiant toss of her head.

"So who is she? Is she my new governess?"

Before Lottie could even react to the absurd question, Hayden drew her gloved hand into the crook of his arm. "No, Allegra. She's your new mummy."

Chapter 8

Had his wife returned from her moldering grave to frighten me… or to warn me?

L
OTTIE WOULD HAVE BEEN HARD PRESSED TO
say who looked more horrified by Hayden's announcement — she or the girl. They both gaped at each other for a startled moment, then shifted their disbelieving gazes to Hayden. Lottie tried to snatch her hand away from him, but he held it fast, his profile impenetrable.

A stunned buzz had risen from the servants. Apparently, his daughter wasn't the only one caught off guard by the news of Hayden's nuptials. One of the maidservants even dared to giggle, only to find herself sharply shushed by the head housekeeper. The woman's quelling glare could have frozen a waterfall.

Studiously avoiding Lottie's eyes, Hayden said, "Lottie, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter, Allegra."

"Daughter?" Lottie blurted out, too flabbergasted for discretion. "You made no mention of a daughter."

The minute the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could snatch them back. Although she would have believed it impossible, the girl's expression grew even more stony. "And why would he? Since he prefers to pretend I don't exist."

Hayden's jaw tightened until it was practically a mirror of the girl's. "You know that's not true, Allegra. I just don't choose to expose you to unnecessary scrutiny."

"Because you're afraid I'll embarrass you," Allegra shot back.

"No. Because I'm afraid someone else will seek to embarrass
you,
" he retorted.

Lottie felt compelled to intervene before the exchange deteriorated into a full-out row. "Now, Allegra, you mustn't be angry at your papa for not warning us of each other's existence. Had our… um…
courtship
not been such a whirlwind one, I would have had time to brush up on my
Debrett's
." Digging her nails into Hayden's arm, Lottie beamed up at him. "You simply didn't want to spoil the surprise, did you, darling?"

Allegra folded her bony arms over her chest, looking even more like her father. "I hate surprises."

"Now, young lady, I don't believe that's entirely true," Hayden said, his expression softening.

Although he could have set one of the footmen to the task, he strode back to the carriage himself and unlatched the rear boot. Resting at the very top of the deep storage compartment was the mysterious trunk that had taunted Lottie since the first moment she had laid eyes on it. While Allegra watched his return with wary indifference, Lottie bit her lower lip in anticipation.

At Hayden's command, one of the footmen stepped forward to steady the trunk while Hayden drew a small gold key from his waistcoat pocket and inserted it into the lock. Lottie and all of the servants craned their necks as he threw open the lid, displaying its contents for Allegra.

Lottie couldn't contain her gasp of delight. Instead of a severed head, nestled within the plush velvet lining was one of the most exquisite dolls Lottie had ever seen. She wore a lavender frock of dotted swiss sprigged with pink flowers, silk stockings, and a pair of dainty kid slippers. Her rich sable hair coiled around her shoulders in shimmering curls. A master craftsman had carved and painted her delicate features. A smile played around her rosebud lips, while her violet eyes seemed to twinkle with mischief beneath their lavish fringe of lashes.

Lottie's gaze slowly traveled between the doll and Allegra. Hayden had obviously gone to great trouble and expense to commission a flawless miniature replica of his daughter — not a replica of the child she was, but of the woman she might someday become.

Hayden awaited Allegra's response, so stiff Lottie would have sworn he wasn't even breathing. Allegra continued to gaze into the trunk, her expressioninscrutable. The silence stretched until Lottie could no longer bear it.

"What an amazing piece of workmanship!" she exclaimed, smiling at Allegra as she reached to stroke the doll's cheek. "Why, she looks exactly like you!"

"Don't be silly," the girl said, sparing her a contemptuous look. "It looks nothing like me. It's beautiful."

With those words, she wrenched herself from Martha's grip and went pelting away, her dark hair streaming behind her. This time, no one tried to stop her. The servants either studied their shoes or stared straight ahead.

Hayden watched her disappear around the side of the house, his face no less expressionless.

Although she couldn't have said what possessed her to be so bold, Lottie gave his arm a comforting squeeze. "Don't take her words to heart, my lord. I was a very precocious child myself."

"You still are," he replied, slamming the lid of the trunk and thrusting it into her arms. Before Lottie could respond, he had turned on his heel and strode into the house.

* * *

"Don't mind the master," Martha told Lottie as she led the way up a broad, curving staircase to the third floor of the manor. "Even as a boy, his temper sometimes got the best of his tongue."

"You knew him as a boy?" Lottie asked, trailing her fingertips along the iron balustrade.

"That I did. I was his nurse, you see. His and hisfather's before him. God rest his soul," the woman added, signing a cross on her ample bosom. "Being his only child and heir, Master Hayden was the apple of his papa's eye. I've often thought it a blessing that both his father and his mother passed shortly before he decided to wed that flighty French girl. The scandal probably would have killed them anyway."

A blessing for whom, Lottie wondered, eyeing the woman askance. Surely not for Hayden, who had been left all alone to face society's censure.

Martha seemed to have no qualms about usurping the head housekeeper's duties. Duties such as escorting a new bride to her chambers after she'd been soundly slighted by her groom.

Although the old woman's faded brown hair was streaked with white, she had an abundance of energy for her age. Even when she was standing still, she seemed to bustle. With her leading the charge, there was no time for Lottie to get her bearings as they traversed the winding maze of galleries and corridors, no time to examine the heavily carved mahogany cornices or faded portraits that scowled down at her from the landings. Even the footman following them was forced to trot to keep up or risk being left all alone with the trunk containing Allegra's doll and a basket of angry cats.

"Did Allegra inherit her father's temper?" Lottie asked.

Martha snorted. "Along with her mother's temperament, I'm afraid. Although there's some that might try, no one could argue that the child is a changeling."

At the end of a long corridor, the woman threw open a door, revealing a room so stuffed with trunks, hatboxes, valises and other assorted items that there was very little room left to walk.

Clucking like a mother hen, she used her broad hips to clear a path. "This is just what I feared. When the baggage carts arrived, Mrs. Cavendish, the housekeeper, had your things sent to this room because it was next to the schoolroom. I'll ring for the maids and have them removed to the marchioness's chambers immediately."

"Just where would those chambers be?"

Martha blinked at her. "Why, adjoining the marquess's, of course."

Lottie gazed around the room. From what little she could see of its whitewashed iron bedstead, castoff furniture, and faded ivy-patterned wallpaper, it bore a comforting resemblance to the chamber she had shared with her sister in Hertfordshire before Sterling had swept them all into the lap of luxury.

"That won't be necessary, Martha," she said firmly. "I believe this chamber will suit me just fine."

It was the woman's turn to look at her askance. "Very well, my lady," she said slowly. "Then I'll have Mrs. Cavendish send up some of the maids to help you unpack."

"That won't be necessary either," Lottie assured her. She didn't believe her raw pride could withstand their giggling scrutiny. "I'm quite accustomed to looking after myself," she lied. "I can manage very well on my own."

"As you wish, my lady." Although a trace of reproach darkened Martha's nut-brown eyes, she dutifully departed, shooing the footman ahead of her.

* * *

Three hours later as the sky outside the window faded from gray to black and a shy moon came peeking out from between the scudding clouds, Lottie was still exactly where she'd claimed she wanted to be — on her own. She was perched on one of the many trunks she had yet to unpack, wearing one of her most elegant dinner dresses and awaiting a summons to supper.

After a brief romp in a small roof garden Lottie had discovered at the opposite end of her corridor, Pumpkin had laid claim to a fluffy bolster while Mr. Wiggles went exploring among the maze of luggage with Mirabella nipping at his heels. The kitten was still young enough to employ only two modes of locomotion — bouncing and pouncing. Her chief source of amusement was derived from jumping out at unsuspecting passersby and snagging their stockings, which was why Lottie kept her feet drawn up and resting on one of the trunk's hinges.