Redeeming the Rogue (5 page)

Her teacher glanced down, averting her gaze from the mirror’s reflection. “You know how sorry I am that I trusted the Baron to do right by you, Arianne. I wouldn’t have let down my guard otherwise. We all expected that he would slide an engagement ring around your finger.”

The regret evident in Mrs. Summers’s reply tugged at Arianne. She too had been shocked when he announced his engagement to another, after the promises he had made to her. She glanced at her bare fingers. It wasn’t the loss of a ring that concerned her; she’d enough jewels of her own. It wasn’t even the loss of her maidenhood, though disgrace had repercussions beyond that single night. In a way, she found comfort that such an unpleasant experience would not be repeated. However, the uprooting of trust and faith in another, she couldn’t forgive.

“The way he looked at you . . .” Mrs. Summers sighed, oblivious to the pain she resurrected in Arianne. “To this day I just don’t know what made him change his mind.”

But Arianne knew. At least she suspected. She had felt compelled to be honest with the man with whom she thought to spend the rest of her life. Thus she’d told him of her recent discovery that the man who sired her was not the old Duke but rather a tenant farmer. Later that night he’d come to her room and promised her “tainted” bloodline would not affect his feelings. That was his proof.

But before he left, he told her she wasn’t all she should be. That a sullied bloodline could not promise quality. She should have known then, expected what he planned to do, though she thought they would talk. She’d been raised the daughter of a duke. No one could claim she was less. But he did. At the ball held to announce his engagement, her name had been replaced by that of Miss Sharpe. A woman Arianne herself had introduced to him. The memory brought a woeful smile that did nothing to lift her spirits. One could almost say Arianne had been the matchmaker that day. Even now the pain, the embarrassment, and the scorn of the Baron’s rejection resonated deep within her. She’d left Vienna the next day without speaking to him and returned to England to hide in her brother’s lonely, cold, empty town house.

“Please believe me.” Mrs. Summers glanced up. “I never would have consented to you going on those long rides without a chaperone, nor would I have pretended not to hear footsteps in the corridor at night.” The firelight caught the glisten in her eyes. “I thought he loved you.”

“As did I,” Arianne said softly. Her heart twisted. “But it is clear he did not.”

“I’m surprised your brothers haven’t rushed forward to defend your honor.” Mrs. Summers swiped at the corners of her eyes before her hand came to rest on Arianne’s shoulder. “They should have forced the blackguard to marry you.”

Her former teacher’s loyalty lifted her spirits a little. She patted the older woman’s hand. “I wouldn’t have wished for marriage to a man who didn’t love me. I remember my mother’s pain at the hand of my . . . the old Duke. I’ve resigned myself to living a quiet, independent life.” She smiled at her teacher’s reflection. “As for my brothers”—she glanced down—“I haven’t told them.”

“You haven’t written!” Mrs. Summers exclaimed. “Why, I’m tempted to take my hand to pen. They should know what happened!”

“No,” Arianne stated forcefully. “I forbid you to write them. It would come to no good. I would not wish for marriage to the Baron under those circumstances.” Nor would she want William to feel guilty about sharing the recent discovery of their parentage with her. There was little William could do to change recent events, but Arianne would spare him the pain of trying.

“But the gossip!” Mrs. Summers exclaimed. “Don’t you know what will happen to you when news of the Baron’s insult reaches London? You were used, child. He should pay for that.”

And marriage to her would be the punishment? No. She didn’t want that. Fortunately she didn’t need that.

“Even without a husband, I shall never be destitute,” Arianne said. “My brother’s allowance will keep food in the larder and coal in the grates.” His money couldn’t alleviate her loneliness or eliminate her shame. She would have to learn to live without the sort of company she’d enjoyed these many years. She’d have to learn to live without the sort of joy she saw on William’s face when he married his heiress.

“The ambassador said he would do everything in his power to keep the news from leaking to London society,” Arianne continued. “While I realize he can’t stop it forever, we should have a little more time to enjoy London. Then I suppose we can retire to Sanctuary, my dower property in Worcester. A quiet life alone in the country.” Arianne sighed. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“It is for someone like yourself who has spent most of her life involved in embassy parties and politics around that very world,” Mrs. Summers grumbled half under her breath.

Arianne chose to ignore her. “Still, the question remains,” she said. “Do I look like someone’s mistress?”

Mrs. Summers sighed. “No, child. You still look as fresh and beautiful as a new dawning day. If someone mistook you for a mistress, it was probably his own lustful yearnings speaking—nothing else. Now, best you get to sleep, or else someone will mistake you for a paid chaperone with packed luggage under her tired eyes.”

Arianne hugged her former teacher. “I’m glad you agreed to be my chaperone. Your loyalty and friendship mean more to me than all the silly parties and receptions in London.”

Mrs. Summers’s cheeks flushed. “To bed with you now, else there won’t be any silly parties or receptions to attend.”

As soon as Mrs. Summers left, Arianne’s shoulders heaved with an inner sigh. A few weeks ago, she thought she had the world figured out. She thought she’d found the key to a life with a safe companion by her side, someone who’d never raise a hand to her. In hindsight . . . well, what was done was done. No one would invite such disgrace into a marriage. She had mussed too many handkerchiefs over the incident. Yet her eyes moistened anew, and she knew she’d muss another.

 

THE NEXT MORNING, MRS. SUMMERS’S WORDS CAME BACK to haunt Arianne when she opened her morning paper to the society news column.

“He’s coming here!” Arianne exclaimed, clenching the ironed paper hard enough to wring the ink from the page.

“Who, dear?” Mrs. Summers asked from the opposite side of the table. “That young man from last night who set you into such a dither?”

Arianne grimaced. “I was not in a dither.” Though in truth, thoughts of Mr. Rafferty had kept her restless most of the night. Not thoughts of him, she corrected herself. Thoughts of why he’d selected her as the suspect mistress. Yes, that was the gist of it. Certainly it wasn’t his smoldering stare, or his devilish lips that she’d managed to set to bleeding, or that seductive rhythm in his speech. She shook her head. “No. Definitely not. I was referring to the news that the Baron is coming to London with his horrid sister and his new fiancée.”

“I don’t recall you calling Marianne ‘horrid’ before.” Mrs. Summers calmly sipped from her teacup.

“That’s because you didn’t see her superior gloat when the Baron announced his future wife. I always suspected she was disappointed in her brother’s choice of me. She managed to show her colors when I was most vulnerable.”

“Perhaps the Baron is coming to London specifically to seek you out,” Mrs. Summers said. “Perhaps he wants to apologize or offer an explanation for his actions.”

A sharp pain knifed its way through Arianne at the thought of seeing the Baron again. Maintaining a calm façade while he waltzed with his newly announced fiancée in Vienna had been difficult. So difficult, she pleaded a headache and left before the dance was through. She had no intention of letting him see the blow he had dealt. “An apology will not change the damage he has done to my reputation,” she said, willing her hands not to shake. “Besides, what he may seek to mend, I believe his sister intends to destroy.”

“So what do you plan to do?” Mrs. Summers asked. It was clear she had no solutions to offer beyond seeking her brother William’s assistance.

“I’m not certain.” Arianne thought a bit. “I don’t plan to see him.” That much she knew without doubt. To look into his eyes and see pity reflected there would just be too painful. “A meeting like that would set tongues wagging, I’m afraid,” she said with a nonchalance she didn’t feel.

“If he still gazes at you as he once did, the ton would most certainly whisper,” Mrs. Summers agreed. “But you can’t stay here and hope to avoid him. Perhaps it’s time to visit one of your brothers.”

To appear suddenly at one of their country estates unannounced would surely elicit a number of questions on their part. Questions she’d be hesitant to answer.

William’s ancient butler, Hastings, appeared in the breakfast room as silent as a vapor with a note upon a tray. He carried the silver platter to Arianne. “For you, my lady.”

She stared at the cream envelope for a moment, hesitant to open it. What if it was an invitation to the Sugdens’ ball? She coughed modestly, thinking to plant the seeds of an onset of illness, then removed a single sheet from the envelope. Once she recognized the embossed letterhead she managed a deep breath of relief, then quickly scanned the brief contents. “There is one place I intend to go,” she said with a quick nod to Hastings. He retreated as silently as he arrived.

“Where would that be, dear?” Mrs. Summers inquired.

“Lord Henderson says that he is desirous of a meeting this afternoon.” Hiding her concern from Mrs. Summers, she wondered why the head of the Home Office wished to speak to her. Had he learned of the incident in Vienna?

“Perhaps the diversion will present a solution to this problem.” Mrs. Summers shook her head. “I just don’t understand whatever made the Baron change his mind. I had honestly thought your matchmaking skills had played in your favor this time.”

“Accidental,” Arianne said as she picked up a mister to spray the fishbone fern sprouting on the corner plant stand. She’d have to speak with the housekeeper about a better regimen for these plants before she left on her next trip—wherever that may be. If news of her misadventure had reached Lord Henderson, it might be time to settle into Sanctuary. She hoped not. She wasn’t ready to isolate herself from the world just yet.

“Did you say something?” Mrs. Summers asked.

“I said my supposed matchmaking skills are purely accidental,” she said as she took her mister to spray the plants in the next room.

“Accidental or not,” Mrs. Summers called after her, “it’s time Cupid’s Mistress fell under her own magic.”

Magic? Arianne swallowed her laugh. If she truly possessed magic, the Baron would be sitting on a lily pad luring innocent flies in his own stagnant frog pond and the arrogant Mr. Rafferty would be . . . Well, she mused, she wasn’t quite sure what she’d make him. Though the vision of a four-footed animal with a loud bray crossed her mind.

“SO, RAFFERTY . . .” LORD HENDERSON STOOD BEHIND his desk in his London quarters. He gestured for Rafferty to take one of two chairs opposite. “What were your impressions of last night’s reception?”

Rafferty pondered the selection of chairs, not entirely comfortable with his back toward the door, but stepped before a high-back chair off to the side, thus minimizing unanticipated threats. Surviving in the murky world of government secrets made such ordinary decisions a complication of risks.

“You can let down your guard, Rafe,” Lord Henderson said, compassion warming his eyes. “You’ll be quite safe here.”

Rafferty nodded toward the window before accepting the seat. “Nevertheless, I left Phineas watching your doorstep.” He retrieved the folded paper from his pocket. “These are dangerous times. We intercepted a note from Barnell last night suggesting something is afoot. If the Fenians are preparing for another assault, the two of us together could make an appealing target.”

“A note?” Henderson took the paper and scanned the brief contents. “How did you get this?” He raised an eyebrow at Rafferty. “Or perhaps I shouldn’t inquire . . .”

Rafferty grinned. “A thief tried to rob Phineas and me while we walked to the reception. We lightened his pockets instead.”

“Walked?” The second eyebrow rose to join the first. “Unlike your usual haunts, hansoms traverse Mayfair.”

“I was in no hurry to arrive.” Rafferty averted his gaze. Henderson could never understand his discomfort around the upper crust. While he may be as well educated as the gentry, the similarities ended there.

Henderson glanced at the note. “How do you know the ‘B’ is for Barnell?”