Perilous Risk (5 page)

She’s your most generous benefactress so mind your manners.

Rebecca took a deep breath and forced a pleasant expression. “Let me go take a look at my bookshelf, my lady.”

With resentment settled into her belly like a lead weight, she trudged slowly into the backroom, then stared unseeing at the multicoloured spines of the books on the shelf.

It isn’t her fault. You cannot hate another woman because Jon fell in love with her.

Who would have ever guessed Jon was even capable of falling in love?

Rebecca went weak and she sagged against the bookshelf.

I didn’t expect love. I tried to understand him and accepted what he could give me. I didn’t make demands. I tried to love him lightly. I was a good girl.

Tears scalded her eyes. She took a gulp of air and dragged her sleeve over her face to wipe the incriminating evidence away. She’d been only a mistress. She’d had no right to expect more. No right to hurt. No right to tears. She was just expected to take his generous congé and go away. Make no trouble. No distasteful scenes. No inconvenient complications.

I am older now. Too old for love. Certainly too wise.

She swallowed several times then straightened her spine. What was the matter with her? For so long, she had pushed all of these useless feelings down and devoted herself to minding her father’s shop.

But of late, all her tightly tucked emotional corners seemed to be coming undone. Their seams popping open all over the place.

Well, surely she still had some dignity? She shook herself and then searched her bookshelf and retrieved several volumes. Yet, walking back into the storefront, she caught sight of Lady Ruel, so dark and exotically beautiful and lushly figured, standing so tall and true, like royalty. It made that lump in her throat burn hotter and Rebecca paused to swallow several times.

Accepting donations was the main way that Rebecca financed the midwifery and charity that she gave poor women. If that meant placating a few difficult ladies from time to time, then she would do what she had to do.

How was she to deal with her own feelings in regard to her former lover’s wife?

With an ache settling into her stomach, Rebecca took a deep breath and then returned to the counter with the additional books. She stood as tall as she might, but honestly she’d always been a little intimidated by women who were taller.

Lady Ruel stared back at her with a glacial expression.

All right. She was quite intimidated by taller,
statuesque
women.

With age, wisdom is supposed to come. Act your age. Keep your dignity.

Rebecca’s face grew tight, as though the clay of her forced pleasant mask had suddenly hardened and might crack under the strain. “Is little Jonny still suffering with the colic?”

Lady Ruel nodded. She seemed to speak as little as humanly possible.

As though us mortals aren’t worthy of the effort.

Rebecca forced the uncharitable thought down and sought to fill the uneasy quiet. “This herbal mix really does work wonders for colic. I used it with my own son. But it may be harder to get him to take it, it is quite bitter compared to the other.”

“You promise that it works?”

“Oh yes, it works. It is just getting it down the gullet that may prove a tricky feat.” Rebecca put a lighter note in her voice and all the force of her charm into her smile.

The lady stared back at her with that same icy air.

Oh, Lord. What ever had possessed Jon to choose such a cold, haughty woman for a wife?

Well, the answer was plain. It had been her exquisite dark beauty and voluptuous form, her wealth, her noble blood and yes, her youth.

But today, on closer inspection, Lady Ruel’s visage didn’t appear so intimidatingly perfect. Purple crescents lay under her reddened eyes and her complexion was bit sallow.

Despite herself, Rebecca felt a twinge of sympathy. Three births in four years, no wonder the lady appeared worn. Young noblewomen were under such incredible pressure to produce the required males for their husbands’ family lines.

“It will work.” Rebecca made her smile broader. “And he will sleep. I guarantee it.”

The other woman’s rigidly held shoulders suddenly dropped. “Very well, I’ll try it,” Lady Ruel said, without having once glanced at the other books.

That was surprising. She’d never before been that easily persuaded.

Another, stronger twinge of sympathy softened Rebecca’s heart. Who could blame the lady for her heightened vigilance? The first two children born into Lloyd House had been healthy, lovely little girls. Unfortunately, the Ruel heir had been born weak and had fought hard against a virulent respiratory fever in his first weeks. Yet he had managed to cling to his fragile thread of life and day-by-day was gradually gaining strength.

Rebecca put the little glass bottles into a box. “Will there be anything else today, my lady?”

“No.” Anne Lloyd shook her head, albeit listlessly. Usually she left quickly. But today she seemed to hesitate. Her haughty mask faltered. She bit her lip whilst staring down at her gloved hands. She looked more girl than noblewoman.

“My lady?” Rebecca inquired.

“I was wondering…” The young countess’ voice drifted off and she tapped her fingers on the counter.

Rebecca stared at those long, elegantly tapered digits, gloved in kid leather that appeared to be the thinnest possible and was dyed a rich lavender.

Jon had tapped his fingers in the mornings before a battle—the same exact cadence and pattern—when he had been full of energy, waiting, impatient. Lady Ruel was mimicking her husband’s habits in the way all young, infatuated brides tended to do. Only they were no longer newlyweds.

Rebecca’s bitterness threatened to return.

No, you’re better than this vain jealousy. You’re certainly stronger than this.

She had proved herself stronger. For the past few years, she had worked hard from sunrise to sunset, suppressing her sensuality, her earlier need to belong to a man.

But she had no heart for the sensual side of life. She’d had no lovers since Jon, male or female.

Lust, pleasure, romantic love. She didn’t need those things any longer.

They weren’t worth the price. Not worth the pain and heartbreak when the attachment ended.

She was a changed person.

Duty to her family and the satisfaction of serving a higher cause had replaced her earlier, sensual and frankly needy ways. Daily work made her stronger, devotion made her stronger. She straightened her spine.

“Yes, my lady?” she repeated herself. The firm yet deferent tone in her voice pleased her. Yes, she could manage Jon’s wife just fine.

Lady Ruel bit her lip. She appeared vulnerable, a bit lost. Human. The effect was rather breathtaking. It made Rebecca pause.

“My cousin the Duke of Saxby is rather ill.”

“So I had heard.” Everyone had been talking about the surprising marriage between the young Duke of Saxby and the disgraced Lady Maria Waterbury. The nuptials had taken place in Kingston, Jamaica. Presumably they had been happy newlyweds for many months. Then Saxby had taken ill from a tropical fever and they had returned to England.

“The doctors say he should be recovered but his illness lingers.” Again, she tapped her gloved fingers, the soft leather making a pleasing patter on the highly polished walnut counter. “Perhaps…” Voice trailing off, she flashed a quick glance through her dark lashes.

Mercy, was it really possible for any woman to be born with such long, thick lashes? Or did she enhance them with some artifice? Her eyes sparkled like sapphires.

Rebecca found herself fascinated. The girl really was exceptionally lovely.

A faint blush coloured Lady Ruel’s olive cheeks and she quickly lowered her gaze.

“Yes, perhaps, my lady?” Rebecca prodded gently.

Lady Ruel kept her eyes focused on the counter. “Do you think Maria is capable of actual murder?”

The last word was spoken as though it were hard for her to pronounce it. Even so, the bluntness of the question startled Rebecca. Ladies were seldom blunt.

“I meant, you knew her, correct?” Lady Ruel added, somewhat breathlessly.

Rebecca scarcely knew what to say. “I knew her to some degree but not well.”

“She’s an evil woman.” This was said with firm conviction.

“Yes.” Oh lord, but Rebecca could surely use a large Scotch whisky!

“She intends to murder my cousin and nothing can be done to stop her.” Anne Lloyd’s voice was sad.

Saxby had been Anne’s lover. She had been unfaithful and yet all she had had to do was return home and Jon had, apparently, forgiven all. Resentment crackled along Rebecca’s skin.

No, you don’t know that she was actually unfaithful. You only know that she ran away with Saxby. It’s none of your affair in any case. And you’re the last woman alive who can throw stones at an unfaithful wife…

Rebecca tried to present a pleasant expression and failed. She could feel the lines in her face, cracking, cracking. “What does Jo—Lord Ruel say?”

That impossibly lush, wine-red mouth curved upwards. Trembling lips and a catching in her breath. “He says that Saxby has made his own bed, that only a fool would have bedded down with a woman who had proved herself to be such a she-wolf.”

“That’s sounds like Lord Ruel.”

Anne Lloyd gave a little laugh. A stifled sound. “He is quite adamant.”

“There is a certain wisdom in what he says, my lady,” Rebecca ventured carefully.

“Yes, I suppose there is. But my cousin is a young man. Foolish? Perhaps. Naive and idealistic most definitely.”

The fondness in the young countess’s voice brought back that earlier certainty that she had been Saxby’s lover. Rebecca’s patience suddenly snapped. She was here to sell medicinal extracts, nothing more. “My lady, I do not think Maria Seymour intends to kill her husband.”

“You sound so certain,” Anne Lloyd said.

It was slightly disconcerting to talk to a person who was so pointedly avoiding eye contact. It was disconcerting to have lengthy conversations with this lady. Rebecca gave an internal sigh. “Maria Seymour came here just a few days ago and she implored me to have a look at Saxby and give my opinion as to what could possibly be done to increase his chances of recovery.”

“She did?” Lady Ruel said, incredulously.

“Yes.” Rebecca’s own voice held a note of incredulousness. She still couldn’t believe it herself.

“And did you go?” Lady Ruel’s words carried a certain breathless hope.

“No.” Uneasiness bristled down Rebecca’s spine. “I am no doctor. I just sell extracts.”

“Oh.” Another of those small, nervous smiles. “I disagree. In fact, I rather doubt my Jonny would have lived through his first two weeks without your expertise with medicines.”

“I sincerely doubt that, my lady, he was attended by the best physicians that London has to offer.”

“Yes, and that was likely part of the problem.” Anne drummed her fingers on the counter again.

Rebecca’s back began to ache in protest again. God, she just wanted to get off her feet for the day.

Lady Ruel looked up, and Rebecca found herself staring into deep, dark blue eyes. Huge and full of emotion. Pleading.

“Perhaps you could have a look at him? He is the last family I have left in England. And he is kind and good. His heart leads him into trouble sometimes. He acts before he thinks. But he
is
good.”

Much like her own Edwin.

Rebecca found herself overcome with sympathy. She hardened herself against the feeling. “No.”

She spoke firmly, coldly, as though she could push her compassion away through the strength of her gesture.

“No?” Anne Lloyd’s voice was soft. Sweet without being saccharine.

The girl’s appeal was well nigh irresistible. But Rebecca had enough self-protective sense left. “I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot.”

“If you will, I shall pay you well. Grandly. Extravagantly.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I am sorry. I cannot. I will not go anywhere near the new Duchess of Saxby. And in any case she would not allow me into her house.”

“Oh, but I think she would. Just to show everyone that she cares about the duke and wants the best for him.”

“I will not go near her.”

Rebecca’s palms were sweating now. She did fear Maria. The woman was pure evil.

“Well, if you won’t, you won’t.” Lady Ruel sounded sad. “I had feared you wouldn’t. But I simply had to ask. You seem so knowledgeable about medical matters and I certainly trust you more than I do most of these London physicians. I think they create more illness than they cure. I hope you understand, I have no wish to cause you to feel ill-at-ease.”

Anne Lloyd spoke as though she’d suddenly forgotten that Rebecca was a commoner and she was a powerful, exceedingly wealthy aristocrat. Her vulnerability was still incredibly endearing and Rebecca felt a warmth spreading through her heart. Compassion. Words rushed to her lips, the urge to agree to see Saxby. But she couldn’t let them free and she clamped her mouth shut. Surely Jon would understand, a commoner like herself simply couldn’t risk angering a woman like the new Duchess of Saxby.