Persistent Earl : Signet Regency Romance (9781101578841) (17 page)

“Begin at the beginning,” he prompted. “Why did you come here? Why all the secrecy?” When she still hesitated, his voice became rough-edged. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Do you not know why I arranged with Mullins to follow? I was concerned for your safety. I care about you.”

At the intensity in his voice Phoebe felt as though something quite physically cracked inside her. She didn't know if it was her heart or a piece of the wall she had built all around it. Suddenly she began to talk, the words slipping out without waiting for her permission.

“I came here to meet with a woman,” she said. “It is not what you think.”

“I didn't think anything but that you might be in trouble,” he replied softly.

“I couldn't let Judith and Edward know. This woman was—I mean, she thought she was—one of Stephen's mistresses. She had sent me a note, asking to meet me here. She thought—she thought Stephen was still alive.”

Phoebe went through the whole story with him. She did not know when the tears began to roll down her cheeks or when the earl took her into his arms to comfort her as she finished the rest of the tale. She only became conscious that these things had happened as she came to the end and rested quietly against him.

“You do not find this shocking?” she asked.

“My dear, you are speaking to the notorious Earl of Devenham. I am no stranger to scandals, you'll recall. And I must confess, some parts of your story had already come to my ears. I have been looking into it, for it did not seem to me to make sense.”

“What do you mean, you ‘have been looking into it'?”

“I have been making certain inquiries. But this new information about Richard's masquerade opens up many more questions.”

“Why would Richard use Stephen's name?” she asked now as she had already asked herself several times.

Devenham tightened his arms around her but did not answer right away. “Not only why, but how often?” he finally said, echoing her own thoughts. “Not only how often, but when? If one mistress was his, could not the others have been also? What of Stephen's supposed other marriage? And what of Stephen's gambling debts? Were those truly his, or were some of those Richard's?”

Phoebe remained in the earl's embrace, drawing comfort from the feel of his warm, solid body. Was it selfish to grasp a few crumbs of pleasure from a relationship she could not allow? He had not recoiled from her in horror when her narrative had revealed that she was barren, but certainly now he would see that she could never be his wife. Perhaps he would even understand how foolishly she had given her heart, how blind and stupid her own passions had made her, how her overpowering love and unproductive body had driven her husband to take his own life. No matter how much of the scandal had been Richard's doing, nothing altered the fact that Stephen had put a pistol to his own head and fired it.

She lifted her head just enough to shake it. “In the end, asking questions does not bring Stephen back. What does it matter except to understand Richard?”

“Do you not feel angry that it may have been Richard's deeds that blackened Stephen's name? And after his death, when he could not vindicate himself! The very idea offends me deeply. Think of the reflections the scandal cast on your own reputation and the pain it has caused you!”

“There would still have been scandal,” she answered, “and there is no remedy for the pain.”

“Yes, there is. Tell me if you feel pain when I do this.” Devenham proceeded to kiss and caress her with a determined thoroughness that both aroused and astounded her. She scarcely noticed when he untied her bonnet and removed it. When her knees gave way, he half carried her into the nearest pew and sat there with her in his lap. She saw her own smoky desire reflected in his eyes.

“Tell me,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

She could not make her mouth form words. She shook her head.

“Give me your pain,” he whispered. “Let me be your remedy.”

Finally she pushed away. “No,” she said. “You cannot.” She stood up and moved a few steps away to be out of his reach. She retrieved her bonnet from the floor where he had dropped it and poked at her hair with unsteady fingers, looking at him reproachfully. “Such behavior in a church! Really, Lord Devenham, I believe you are every bit as scandalous as people say.”

She repositioned her bonnet and tied it securely, mindful that Mullins should soon be joining them.

For a few moments neither of them spoke. Finally, Devenham said, “You should at least feel angry. You should be angry with Richard and the world, and you should fight back. Fight back! People always want to believe the worst. Instead of hiding, show them that you don't give a fig for their opinions. If it is what you want, be so virtuous and good that it shames them. Hold up your head and live your life! As for Richard, we must expose him.”

“How?” she asked. The single word seemed the only possible response to everything he had just said.

“For one thing, go with me to the Duke of York's reception. Show people you are not afraid of their clucking tongues. They will gossip, unquestionably, if you make your appearance there with me. Are you brave enough to take such a step?

“I am less certain what to do about Brodfield. We have no proof of anything, just Mlle. Gimard's story.” He looked at Phoebe thoughtfully and rose from his seat. “What became of Stephen's papers after his death? There must have been notices from his creditors, and the lines from his other marriage, to have set off the scandal, or was all of it hearsay?”

“There were papers. Some were examined at the inquest. I suppose they are still at Charles Street. I took nothing when I left there.”

“If we could see those papers—get names from them—then we could interview some of the people who were involved in this. Perhaps they would discover, as Mlle. Gimard did, that the brother who presented himself as Stephen was not, after all.”

Phoebe could see that the earl was excited by the idea. The spark of desire in his eyes had been replaced by a spark of—what? Revenge? Anticipation? Why did Richard's duplicity matter to him? He stood like a man prepared to do battle, his fists clenched and his jaw set. If he thought he could slay her personal dragons like a knight of old, she knew he was sadly mistaken.

“I suppose I could ask Lady Tyneley for them,” she offered without much enthusiasm. “If she won't give them to me, perhaps she would at least let me look at them.”

“I don't like the idea of your going back to that house. What if Brodfield is there and Lady Tyneley is not? What if he approaches you as he did in your own garden? Who would be there to help you?” She saw his face darken at the very thought. “You will let me accompany you.”

“I am not certain Lady Tyneley would cooperate if she suspected anything was amiss. I will only go when I know she is at home,” she replied quickly. Then she added, “Perhaps I will bring Mlle. Gimard. She wishes to meet with Richard, and I promised to help her. I had not thought of taking her to the house, but really, she seems very respectable. I suspect that originally she came from a good family. I do not see what Richard could do if there were two of us.”

She hoped he would be satisfied with that. She did not feel challenged to fight the way he did; perhaps there was something lacking in her spirit, or else she just saw the world through different eyes. She suspected that battling her demons might be a way for him to battle his own. She had seen clearly the pain he carried from his childhood, and she was beginning to understand that the scandalous behavior behind his reputation was his way of answering the pain caused by other people's false assumptions. This chance to do battle was one thing she could do for him, one small thing she could give freely.

“All right,” he said. Relief washed over her. Then he smiled, and she felt even better. “You have not yet said if you will accompany me to His Royal Highness's reception.”

“I will. You honor me by asking. Who would not feel proud to attend a reception at Carlton House and stand by the side of a Waterloo hero?”

She smiled back at him, and they simply stood there, more than a dozen feet apart, until a moment later Mullins arrived, spattered with rain and carrying a paper-wrapped parcel from Hatchard's.

Chapter Fifteen

“You look positively beautiful, Aunt Phoebe. Everyone will admire you.”

Phoebe smiled and tried to draw comfort from Dorrie's rather partisan approval. She was nervous about attending the reception at Carlton House, and unlike her innocent niece, she was aware that the second statement did not necessarily follow from the first. “Thank you, Dorrie. You are sweet to say so.”

She sat still while Mary Anne fastened a necklace of jet beads around her neck, the finishing touch to her toilette. At Judith's insistence, she had indulged in a new evening gown to wear to the Duke of York's reception. With so much of the city's population already gone to their country estates, she had found no difficulty in procuring the services of a modiste on short notice. The woman had gone to great lengths to please her, no doubt in view of the further exodus of clients about to take place as the month of August came to an end.

The Allingtons were preparing to leave London like most of their remaining neighbors and acquaintances. In a few days, Phoebe would find herself in Kent with the family at their country estate, which was finally sporting a completely repaired roof. Such a prospect would normally have lightened her step and filled her heart with joyful anticipation, as she vastly preferred the quiet months spent in the country. This time, however, she felt suspiciously dismayed to be leaving.

She had tried to tell herself that the feeling was due entirely to Devenham's unfinished efforts to investigate and expose Richard Brodfield's villainy. Her initial lack of enthusiasm for the project had been overthrown by Richard himself. She had done as she had promised Devenham, paying a call on Lady Tyneley and taking Mlle. Gimard with her. The young Frenchwoman had succeeded in having an interview with Richard while they were there, and Phoebe had in fact managed to get her mother-in-law to let her see the papers Stephen had left behind in his desk. When the two young women left, Phoebe had a list of names she had surreptitiously copied down to give the earl, and Mlle. Gimard had Richard's answer to her son's future.

Unfortunately, the visit had proved successful for only one of them. What Richard's response had been was very clear from the Frenchwoman's pale face and drawn expression. Phoebe had prodded Mlle. Gimard until the woman finally confided in her. Richard had refused to acknowledge Gaston, saying that it was to the lad's advantage that he not do so. Phoebe was deeply offended by this, for she was certain the poor Frenchwoman was at her wit's end.

She had decided then that Richard deserved whatever scandal or legal repercussions resulted from Devenham's efforts. She was sorry that she would not be in London to see the process completed, but if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that that was not her greatest regret. The curtailment of her connection with the earl weighed on her heart far more heavily.

Tonight, at least, she would be with him. She supposed it was a fitting farewell of sorts. Judith and Edward had kindly invited him to join them for a formal dinner prior to the reception, and then there would be the reception itself. Phoebe wanted to look especially fine to honor him in front of his comrades-in-arms and the Duke of York. There was speculation that the Prince Regent himself would be attending in addition to having provided Carlton House for the event.

Once her abigail had declared her perfect, Phoebe stood up and performed a quick pirouette in front of her niece. Her dress was an elegant confection in black and white, for she had decided half mourning would be acceptable for such a gala occasion. The low-cut corsage of white crepe was trimmed all around with small black crepe roses and leaves, which also accented the tiny sleeves. The fall of the skirt was fashioned from black crepe, with an attached ornamental white apron embroidered in black and a wide panel of white set on around the hem. This band was overlaid with an interlaced trimming of jet beadwork and headed by a row of black roses where it joined the plain skirt. Phoebe thought the dress was fashionable and extravagant to the extreme, but it pleased her immensely.

“Ooh,” sighed Dorrie. “Do you suppose if I become an actress I will have such elegant gowns?”

Phoebe offered the young girl a hug in response. “What I suppose is that you will be called away to dinner at any moment, young lady, and that you need not worry your pretty head about such grave matters as the future just now.”

A light knock at the door seemed to confirm this pronouncement, until the maid opened it to admit David, Thomas, and William, come to inspect their aunt. As usual they were full of questions once they had given her appearance their unanimous approval.

“Will Prinny be there?”

“Is the Duke of York as fat as they say he is?”

“Will they give Lord Devenham a medal?”

“Will the earl wear his uniform?”

“Heavens, David, don't let anyone hear you call His Royal Highness the Prince Regent by that awful nickname!” Phoebe responded in her best governess voice. “It is rude to call anyone fat, even if they are,” she added, “and undoubtedly Lord Devenham will be wearing his uniform. And no, they are not giving out any medals. At least, not right now.”

She suspected that her firm tone did not fool the children. They never failed to notice even the smallest betraying twinkle that might show in her eyes. This evening she probably had a sparkle as bright as the gas lights on Pall Mall.

***

In his rooms at the Clarendon, Devenham was finishing his own toilet, with Mullins's able assistance. Packed away in a trunk in his quarters, his dress uniform had escaped the brutal punishment of Quatre Bras and Waterloo. It had only been out of the trunk one other time since then, when he had showed it to the children at the Allingtons'. It looked fresh and crisply presentable on him now.

He stood patiently while his trusted servant brushed imaginary specks of lint from the dark blue jacket with its scarlet facings, collar and cuffs, and silver buttons and lace. Its design was far less spectacular than that of the hussar regiments or even the old-style dragoon uniforms, but still handsome and infinitely more practical without all that braid. It occurred to Devenham that Phoebe had never seen him in his uniform; he wondered what she would think.

Phoebe occupied his mind a great deal lately, he thought with a smile. He was looking forward to the reception simply because she would be with him. The prospect of going through the rest of his life with her by his side had crossed his mind more than a few times, although the idea scared him like little else. He definitely needed more time to examine it. In the meantime, he thought Phoebe's receptiveness to him had improved, and that gave him hope.

He had spent the last few days pursuing information that might be useful against Richard Brodfield, for he was more convinced than ever that the man was a key to Phoebe's past. It was the past that had made Phoebe barricade her heart and deny herself a future, and he was determined to uncover it and free her. His suspicions about Richard were growing uglier every day, although he had not shared those suspicions with Phoebe. The names she had gotten for him from her late husband's papers had opened up several new avenues of inquiry.

“Right, my lord, that should do it,” Mullins announced, stepping back to inspect the earl's appearance. Devenham glanced in the cheval glass and caught the look of approval in his servant's face. From the shirt points standing above his black velvet neck stock to the perfect fit of his white inexpressibles and the shine on his silver-tasseled Hessians, he was the pattern card of a proud officer of the 16th Light Dragoons. At least for a moment, he could feel like the Honorable Major John Allen Jameson once again instead of the Earl of Devenham.

“Thank you, Mullins. Enjoy your free night. You have earned it.” He was ready. He scooped up his silver-trimmed shako from the small table near the door and jammed it on his head as he headed out, tucking the tasseled cap lines under his epaulet and fastening them to the button on his shoulder as he went.

He walked the short distance from the hotel to the livery stable where he had hired space for his new curricle. He had found time to go to Tattersall's, and had purchased a first-rate rig and a beautiful pair of chestnuts for a rather princely sum. He would enjoy driving Phoebe to the reception in such fine style and would gladly pay the fee to have the duke's lads or those attached to Carlton House mind his horses during the reception.

At this moment, the livery's ostlers held the horses as he climbed up into the seat, thinking of how much his leg had improved in the past two weeks. He took up the ribbons and clucked to start the animals. The horses were not only handsome, but superbly trained; he believed them worth every guinea he had paid for them. They turned the tight corner out of the livery into the mews with perfect coordination and calmly proceeded toward the entrance of the narrow alley.

Moments before they reached it, however, a wagon suddenly pulled across the opening and blocked it. Devenham was forced to draw the horses up hard. The frightened animals reared and were in danger of injuring themselves against the wheels of the opposing vehicle. Even as the earl opened his mouth to shout a protest, two figures materialized out of nowhere and clambered onto his vehicle. Before he could get a single word out, something struck his head, producing incredibly sharp pain followed by blackness.

***

The Allingtons and Phoebe waited an hour before going ahead with their dinner. They still expected the earl to arrive, but Judith thought Cook was close to having a fit that would leave regrettably permanent results if they did not proceed. When Devenham still had not arrived by the time they finished eating, Phoebe's initial mild concern had passed through annoyance into very real anxiety.

“Perhaps some unexpected business called him away suddenly, Phoebe dear, and he still plans to take you to the reception. Perhaps he did not have time to send a note,” Judith said in an obvious attempt to comfort her. She seemed far more ready to defend the tardy earl then Edward.

“I hope he has a good explanation,” Phoebe's brother-in-law muttered. “This is not much of a way to show his gratitude to us.”

“Edward, I am positive he must have a reason,” Phoebe said. She just wished she knew what it was.

“A reason, yes. I can think of several—none of them good. I thought he was settling down, done with stirring up scandals and trying to shock people. Could I have been so wrong?” He looked at Phoebe in distress. “I never thought he would make you a victim of his capriciousness, dear Phoebe.”

“Edward! Was it not you who convinced me to take Lord Devenham under our roof in the first place?” Judith responded. “He has proved himself more kind, generous, and noble than I could have dreamed. I learned a lesson about judging people for myself while he was here. Do not lose your faith in him now, after the faith you had in him before!”

Phoebe thought the clock ticked relentlessly and rather loudly, although perhaps that was only in her head. When the hour for the start of the duke's reception came and passed, she said quietly, “I would like to send a note 'round to the Clarendon, Edward. May I send Goldie with it?”

“Of course, my dear, of course. Write your note, and as soon as it is ready, we'll send him off. In fact, I'll let him take the gig.”

The note she wrote was very brief, only expressing her regrets that the earl had been unable to join them for dinner and inquiring politely if there had been a change in plans or if there was any trouble with which either she or the Allingtons might assist him. She thought it hid very well the mixed agonies of dread and doubt that were starting to torture her as the night wore on. Had something happened to him? Or had he suddenly realized he did not want to be seen with the shamed Lady Brodfield at the reception, and not known how to tell her?

The note was sent off, and she settled down to play at cards with Judith and Edward while they waited to see what results it might bring. They played five-card loo, but Phoebe could not concentrate. Their shared laughter every time she had to put more counters into the pool was hollow, as if no one could truly enjoy the game.

More than two and a half hours crept by before Goldie returned to Wigmore Street. When he finally did, Mullins was with him.

“There was nobody there when I first got there—I mean to say, both his lordship and Mullins was out, so I waited,” the young footman explained hastily.

“Lord Devenham gave me the night off,” Mullins said. “I'd no idea 'e had not showed up 'ere. I just thank God I stopped back at the hotel—your man might have been waitin' there for me till an even later hour.” He stopped and looked meaningfully at Edward. “P'rhaps we should speak privately, Sir Edward?” He rolled his eyes at Phoebe and Judith.

“I want to know anything that Mullins has to say,” Phoebe insisted before Edward could even reply.

“As do I,” Judith agreed.

Edward nodded and the serving man continued quickly. “Lord Devenham left in plenty o' time to be here for 'is dinner engagement. Goldie and me checked at the livery, an' he did go there and pick up his carriage. Just to be sure, we went to Carlton House. O' course we knew we couldn't go in, but one o' the grooms took our message to a footman, who passed it inside. After a while one of His Royal Highness's own servants comes out and tells us the earl hasn't been there, and the duke is none too pleased about it. I'm afraid now 'e is in more than one kind of trouble. But I don't have any idea where 'e is.”

Phoebe had to swallow twice before she managed to voice her question. “Did you think he was intending to keep his engagements when he left you, Mullins?”

“Yes, Lady Brodfield, I did.”

The next query was even harder. “Do you still think so now in light of what has happened?”

Mullins stared straight at her with that determined look she had come to know so well during their first days. That look conveyed more to her than his words, and while it soothed some of the pain in her heart, it left fear there instead.