Shades of the Past (11 page)

Mrs. Fitzgerald watched her face. “Good news, mm?”

“Yes.” But then Laura’s smile faded. Going for a second audition would mean leaving what was happening here.

“What is it, my dear?”

“Oh, nothing.”

The phone rang, and Mrs. Fitzgerald answered. “Jenny, sweetheart! How are you? How’s Alun? Oh, good...” After chatting for several minutes, she handed the call over to Laura.

Jenny sounded as if she were in the next room, not Dijon. “Hello, Laura? I hope you’re not too bored without me?”

“I’m fine. Doing a little sightseeing, as it happens.”
And if you only knew the sights…!

Mrs. Fitzgerald was called away, and Jenny immediately interrogated Laura. “Right then, suppose you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Why, nothing.”

“You don’t fool me. Your voice is a giveaway. Tell Auntie Jenny.”

The flying saucer factor was still a powerful deterrent, so Laura lamely resorted to blaming Kyle instead. “I’ve heard from the two-timing rat. He got my address, and is coming over here to try to win me back.”

“You’re joking!”

“I wish. He says he realizes how much I mean to him, and so on.”

“He’s probably found just how much cash your aunt left you,” Jenny replied cynically. “Or did he know before?”

“Well, no, he didn’t. We parted a few days before my aunt died.” Laura lowered her eyes. Her stress levels must have been sky high then. Maybe they still were, and that was why she was seeing things. She’d finally flipped!

Jenny condemned Kyle’s motives. “He’s after your money, but do you want him back, or—?”

There was a click mid-sentence, and the line went dead. Laura hung around, but the minutes passed and the phone remained silent.

She was suddenly too restless to stay in, so decided to visit the stables, where on impulse she booked a horse for the following morning. After that, she went for a short walk in the valley to while away the remainder of the afternoon daylight. Her route took her to the opposite bank of the stream from the gate, and she paused by the pool where Blair had bathed.

She pushed her hands into her coat pockets, and shivered in the winter cold as she gazed across the water. She had no way of knowing if her adventures were over, but if they were, she’d always have her memories. She might be standing here in the fading light of a January afternoon, but her mind’s eye conjured that day in a long past May, when Blair had gone for a swim he thought no one else could witness.

She relived those erotic minutes. His expressive eyes affected her unbearably, and his head-turning good looks quickened her pulse. A frisson of excitement shivered through her as she recalled his arms around the horse’s neck, then the frisson became breathless yearning when she remembered how he’d turned and she’d seen his naked masculinity. “Oh, Blair...” she whispered, as the image faded when he dove into the water.

When she went down for dinner that evening she sat at the same table, intending to return to her room as quickly as possible. One of her favorite old movies, an unashamedly romantic tear-jerker, was on TV in a short while, and maybe it would sidetrack the activities of her Regency self. One thing was certain, right now she was in just the mood to blubber into a handkerchief!

The clock in the dining room was striking as she got up to leave, but suddenly all the lights went out. At least, that was what she thought, until she realized it wasn’t quite dark after all, more like a rosy sunset. The modern dining room had vanished, so had the guests, and although the chimes continued to ring out, they were different, and she saw a much taller, older clock. The close encounters weren’t over, she was back in Deveril House again!

Overjoyed, she glanced around. She was at the foot of the staircase that led to the spacious landing and the main rooms, including the ballroom, drawing room, and library. The original dining room led off to her right, its door where there’d be the window next to her hotel table. There were voices in the adjacent entrance hall, and she saw a small team of footmen, under Harcourt’s supervision, using stepladders to light the chandeliers. Outside it was a beautiful summer dusk, the western sky was a glory of red and gold, and she could hear the peacocks calling before they roosted for the night.

It was the end of her first day at Deveril House as Marianna’s chaperone. She wore an olive green taffeta evening gown, a few years out of date, as Miles had planned. It was plain and unostentatious, and with it she had a simple cream silk shawl. Her hair was in a Grecian knot that she had somehow pinned in place herself. Regency Laura was clearly very nimble-fingered.

She wasn’t alone, for Stephen was at her side, and they’d just returned from an after-dinner stroll in the gardens. Blair’s spaniels had accompanied them, while Blair himself was down at the tunnel consulting with the canal engineer, who’d arrived post haste from London. Marianna was writing a long letter in the drawing room, having been instructed to do so by her brother, who felt that such a letter to an elderly cousin in Scotland was disgracefully overdue.

The walk in the gardens hadn’t gone well because Laura knew she’d spent most of it trying to make Stephen see reason over Marianna, and now she resumed the argument. “Stephen, I still say you’re being reckless beyond belief,” she said, her voice low so that Harcourt and the footmen couldn’t hear.

“I wish you didn’t know anything about it,” Stephen muttered.

“Well, I do know. Stephen, the future Lady Sivintree is most definitely out of bounds, so it’s madness to continue what you began at the New Year in Weymouth. You
must
stop. If it should all come out, you’ll not only ruin Marianna’s reputation, but will have Sir Blair’s justifiable fury to face as well, and he’s unlikely to be understanding.”

“I don’t need reminding of the dangers,” he replied, running a hand slowly through his hair. He wore a corbeau-colored coat and white silk breeches, and looked tired and anxious, as well he might under the circumstances. But his pallor was also a reminder that he was neither hale nor hearty. He looked earnestly at her. “What do you think Blair would say if I went to him and confessed about my feelings for Marianna?”

Her eyes widened. “I think he’d throw pieces of you to the dogs,” she replied bluntly, bending to pat one of the spaniels.

Stephen sighed. “You’re right.” He changed the subject. “Have you thought of anywhere else we might look for the necklace?”

They’d used every spare moment that day to look in all the likely places, but to no avail. She shook her head. “It’s obviously kept somewhere very safe indeed, and to be honest, I don’t know how we’re going to find it. If Sir Blair has a safe, which he is certain to, he has wisely put it somewhere no one else knows about or can happen upon by accident.”

Stephen glanced at her. “Maybe we should simply ask him.”

She was exasperated. “At the dinner table, maybe? How excellent this mulligatawny soup is, Sir Blair, and by the way, where are the diamonds?”

“I wasn’t envisaging it quite like that. Come on, Laura, you’ve clearly made considerable progress with him—indeed I’d go so far as to say you’ve definitely aroused his interest—so what harm would there be in mentioning the necklace? No, don’t look at me like that, for I was going on to say that as Celina is wearing it in the portrait in the library, I’m sure you could naturally refer to it.”

“So could you,” she pointed out, and then fell silent. Yes, she’d aroused Blair’s interest, it was there in his glance— the desire, the exciting shadows, the hint of sensuality that promised so very much—but he hadn’t said or done anything to take things further. The anticipation was suspense beyond belief, but Celina’s ghost filled the house, and she it was that he saw when he looked at Laura Reynolds. The beloved shade, not the living woman.

The ticking of the clock seemed loud as she glanced regretfully at Stephen. “I don’t think it would be wise for either of us to mention Celina’s portrait. She’s still mistress of this house. And of its master,” she added quietly.

“He wants to forget her, why else is he selling this place?”

She looked quickly at him. “You know about that?”

“He told me last night, and that he’d told you.”

“What of Marianna?”

He shook his head. “He’s waiting until her own plans divert her.”

“He’s wrong to do that,” Laura murmured.

Stephen leaned against the newel post and returned to the matter of Celina. “Have you seen the portrait yet?”

“No, I haven’t been in the library. There seem to be so many painters and plasterers that I presumed it was closed.”

“You can still get to the books, and you can certainly see the portrait. It’s on the wall above the chimneypiece, and you really should take a look. It could be a picture of you, Laura.”

A reproachful female voice suddenly addressed them from the top of the staircase. “Where have you two been? I’ve been looking for you.” It was Marianna, pretty in cherry silk, her pink ruby earrings sparkling as she came down toward them.

Stephen smiled adoringly. “Forgive us, but it was such a warm evening we went for a walk in the gardens. We thought you were intent on letter-writing.”

“My brother
was intent upon my letter-writing,” she corrected. “Oh, I’ve composed quite a lot, and will finish it later.”

There was a clatter from the entrance hall as the footmen finished lighting the chandeliers, and folded the stepladders to carry them away. The spaniels immediately pattered over to Harcourt, for it was their mealtime.

Marianna looked at Stephen again. “Will you play cards with me? Oh, and you too, of course, Mrs. Reynolds.”

Laura smiled at the lack of enthusiasm for her presence, and was about to politely decline when Stephen accepted for her. “Cards? Yes, we’d both love to join you, Miss Deveril.”

Marianna sighed. “I’m so enjoying this time before Alex and his horrid father arrive from Ireland. My life won’t be my own once they’re here.”

Laura shifted uncomfortably, aware of her duties as chaperone. “I don’t think Sir Blair would approve of such sentiments,” she warned.

“Well, the earl
is
horrid, and Alex isn’t much better.”

“If you feel so strongly, perhaps you should speak to Sir Blair.”

“I’ve tried, but he won’t listen.” Marianna paused. “Will you speak to him for me?” she asked suddenly.

Laura was startled. “Me?”

“Yes. He’ll pay attention to you.”

Color entered Laura’s cheeks. “I doubt that very much. Besides, it’s hardly my place to speak to him on such a subject.”

“It is if I ask you. Oh, please, Laura. You remind him of Celina, and he always listened to her,” Marianna replied with painful honesty.

Laura colored still more. “Paying attention to his late wife is rather different from accepting advice from a hired chaperone.”

“Maybe, but will you help me?” Marianna pleaded.

Laura gave in. “I’ll try, but I doubt it will make the slightest difference, and in the meantime,
please
try to show more restraint. It really distresses Sir Blair when you constantly refer to how like the late Lady Deveril I am.”

“But—”

“Please, Miss Deveril.”

Stephen came to her aid. “Mrs. Reynolds is right, Marianna.”

“Oh, I suppose she is,” Marianna conceded ruefully. “I just get carried away. It’s very immature, I know,” she added, with unexpected insight.

Perhaps Blair’s little sister was growing up after all, Laura thought.

Marianna turned to Stephen. “Let’s get to the cards then,” she said, and her cherry skirts rustled as she hurried back up the staircase.

Stephen looked at Laura. “We’ve been dragooned, I believe.”

“
You’ve
been dragooned, I’m merely a necessary adjunct,” she corrected. “Besides, I’d rather take a look at Celina’s portrait now the library is empty, provided I can trust you alone with Marianna. Can I?”

“Of course!” he replied indignantly.

“See that you mean it. I’ll join you in a while.”

He hastened after Marianna, and Laura followed more slowly, pausing at the top to select a candle from the table where a number were kept in readiness and could be lighted from a night lamp placed there at dusk. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but she wished to examine the portrait properly.

Stephen and Marianna could be heard in the drawing room as she crossed the landing and paused to look into the ballroom, so vast and empty now that it was hard to believe how many guests had thronged it for the ball.

The library was dark, and the smell of paint and fresh plaster was very strong as she went inside. Dust sheets loomed eerily in the darkness and as she closed the door behind her the candle flame shivered. Glass-fronted bookcases reflected the leaping light as she stepped carefully around a decorator’s trestle to pick her way past the sacks of plaster, buckets of paint and varnish, and other paraphernalia littering the room.

Apart from the bookcases, most of the furniture had been moved to one side and protected with more sheets, but the covering over a large pedestal desk had been dragged aside. On the polished green leather surface stood a decanter of cognac and a glass.

She saw the portrait facing her from the chimney breast, and her breath caught, for everything she’d been told was true. She and Celina Deveril might be one and the same person. She went to look more closely, placing the candle-holder on the mantelshelf before gazing up at the canvas. Celina was seated in the Deveril House rose arbor, with a basket of flowers on the table and more blooms loose on her lap. She wore a low-necked white muslin evening gown that clung to her figure, and her hair tumbled in chestnut profusion over her bare shoulders. She looked charmingly informal, except for the dazzling three-string diamond choker gracing her throat. The Lowestoft diamonds, if Miles was to be believed.

The candlelight swayed over the exquisite brushwork, and Laura’s absorption was complete. There was something uncanny about looking at someone who was so like her she might have been looking in a mirror.

There was a step in the doorway behind her. It was Blair.

Chapter Nine