Smuggler's Lady (24 page)

“Lady Blake,” he said in neutral tones, extending a hand to assist her to alight. Meredith felt as if the breath had been knocked from her body, but she retained sufficient presence of mind to accept the proffered hand with a gracious smile. Nan followed suit although she cast the footman a darkling look which he blandly ignored.

Meredith's thoughts were racing as she did what was clearly expected of her and mounted the steps. Was this Rutherford's house? Surely he would not have her staying under his roof? The conventions of a carte blanche were something of a mystery, but such an arrangement had to be unthinkable. Perhaps this was to be a temporary halt from where he would accompany her to her final destination.

“Welcome, your ladyship.” The black-clad figure bowed low. He was dressed with such elegance that Meredith became unpleasantly conscious of her travel-stained condition, her dress that bore all the hallmarks of country tailoring and style.

“My dear Lady Blake, you are most welcome.” A warm voice, a rustle of skirts, a lingering fragrance was all she was aware of at first, then her gloved hands were taken in a firmly friendly clasp, and she found herself looking at a vision in turquoise crape lavishly trimmed with lace. Particularly fine diamonds hung from the vision's ears and enclosed a creamy throat. Dark hair, cut stylishly short, shone under the lamplight, and Rutherford's large gray eyes smiled with genuine pleasure. This, however, did nothing for Merrie's confidence. That the woman was the spitting image of Damian was her first thought, that she must appear hopelessly shabby her second and, shamefully, more important.

“You must be dreadfully tired,” the woman said quickly, taking her arm as she still stood searching for words. “Come into the drawing room. Grantly will have your maid taken to your apartments where she will be quite comfortable.”

Meredith found herself eased willy-nilly into a most noble apartment hung with a delicate blue paper, furnished in blue and crimson. The door closed and her mysterious hostess clasped her hands again, saying compassionately, “You poor thing. You have no idea what is happening. The servants, you must understand, do not know that you were not expecting to come here. That is why I brought you into the saloon so quickly.”

“Who are you?” Merrie found her voice in the blunt question, not caring if it sounded rude.

“Arabella, Damian's twin sister.” Bella's eyes twinkled. “We are much alike, I think.”

“Yes,” Merrie agreed. “Very much. Where is your brother?”

“First you must take off your pelisse and hat and have some refreshment. I will explain everything when you are comfortable.”

“I beg your pardon, ma'am,” Merrie said quietly. “But I think you are evading my question.”

Bella gave her a rueful smile. “You are just as Damian said you would be.”

“And how was that?”

“Cross and determined.”

Meredith's jaw dropped, then she burst into a peal of laughter. It was all too absurd; besides, she could not help feeling drawn to this woman who was extending such a genuine welcome. Her quarrel was with Rutherford, not with his sister. “I do beg your pardon,” she said again. “If I may, I
will
take off my things. I begin to feel that they are growing on me, so long have I worn them.”

“Yes, indeed you must.” Bella pulled the bell rope. When the footman appeared immediately, he took Meredith's outdoor garments, acknowledging with a low bow the request to bring tea.

“I take it your brother is not here?” Meredith raised her eyebrows. “When do you expect him?”

“He will come tomorrow morning,” Bella replied hesitantly. It occurred to her that she would not wish to face her guest's wrath. For all her travel-stained appearance and outmoded gown, there was an air of authority and confidence about Meredith Blake that crossed their six-year-age difference. “He has left you a letter,” she went on, going swiftly to a secretaire with a cylinder front.

Meredith took the paper with a smile of thanks and walked over to the window, turning her back on her hostess before breaking the heavy seal and unfolding the sheet. She read: Welcome to your new adventure, my love. You may ring a peal over my head tomorrow, but for tonight oblige me by accepting Bella's hospitality with a good grace. She is most anxious to make your acquaintance and knows all there is to know, so you will have no need to play one of your parts with her. She will explain to you the part you will play for the rest of the world unless you prefer to hear it from me. Sleep well, little one. Until tomorrow.

A scrawled signature completed this bewildering missive that, except for the salutations, smacked more of a series of orders than a love letter. Meredith folded it carefully, turning back to Rutherford's sister, who was looking at her anxiously.

“I cannot help feeling it most cowardly of your brother to leave the full burden of my reception at your door,” Merrie said. “But I am enjoined to accept your hospitality with good grace and, indeed, it would be discourteous in me to do otherwise.”

“You are very angry, are you not?” Bella observed, pouring tea into a delicate, fluted cup, which she handed to her guest.

“With your brother? Furious,” Meredith concurred, accepting the tea gratefully. “Will you tell me what plans he has for me? I understand that you are completely in his confidence.”

“We have always been close,” Bella said apologetically. “I hope you do not mind that I know your story.”

“It would profit me little if I did,” Merrie responded with a shrug. “Will you not enlighten me?”

She listened incredulously. The background concocted for her was as near to her own as possible except for one or two major differences. She was still Lady Blake, widow of Sir John Blake. But some vague connections had been established between Matthew, Lord Mallory, and the Blakes. Lord Rutherford, on discovering this distant connection, had offered the aegis of his family to the
rich
young widow in her introduction to London society. Merrie learned that the Duchess of Keighley was delighted that her son had shown such consideration and was looking forward to extending her own welcome. The duke had no opinion on the matter, but that was not unusual.

“I see,” Meredith said thoughtfully at the end of the exposition. “And where, pray, has Lord Rutherford determined that I should lodge for the duration of this deception?”

Arabella stared. “Oh, but I thought you understood. Here. You will live here with me, and I shall sponsor you.”

“That is outrageous! ” Meredith sprang to her feet, heedless of the effect her explosion had upon her hostess. “How
dare
he!”

“Oh, please.” Bella also rose in great distress. “If it is so repugnant to you, then of course you must not. Only I had hoped that we would deal extremely. I was so looking forward to having your company, and everything will be so much more pleasant if we do it together. I have become so wearied of the Season, and George is always in Parliament, and now that Georgy had gone to Eton I am quite alone.”

Meredith watched in horror as two large tears rolled down Lady Beaumont's damask cheeks. “Oh, dear, Lady Beaumont I did not mean to be unkind.”

“Oh, you must call me Bella.” A winsome smile trembled on the rosebud mouth, but the tears still gleamed. “And I may call you Merrie, may I not? You will stay? Say you will.”

This affair, Meredith decided, was considerably more complex than she had immediately perceived. It was clear that she would not be the only benefactor of Damian's plans; it was also clear that that explained his absence this evening. His sister's appeal would carry greater weight than anything he might say at this point.

“I can decide nothing until I have seen Rutherford,” she said gently. “But of course I would not find staying with you repugnant. Your husband might look a little askance, though.”

“Oh, not George.” Arabella's tears dried miraculously. “If he notices you at all, it will be in the vaugest way. But he will be perfectly happy, you may rest assured.”

Meredith smiled an acknowledgment, no other suitable response occurring to her.

“You must be greatly fatigued.” Arabella was suddenly the charming hostess again, in complete command of the situation. “Let me show you to your apartments and I will have a tray sent up. I am sure you will be glad of something.”

Meredith owned that she would welcome a little supper, having partaken of dinner near Staines, at around five o'clock, with an appetite reduced by excitement. Accordingly, she followed her hostess upstairs where she was shown into a boudoir of rose and cream. A Wilton carpet of deep rose pink cushioned the floor, cream curtains draped the windows, silken tassels attached to their thick cords. A pretty Sheraton secretaire of rich rosewood stood against the wall, a leather blotter, inkstand, and set of quills lying ready to invite the eager correspondent. A chaise lounge of cream satin stood beneath the windows, and several dainty Sheraton chairs on delicately carved legs were scattered over the carpet.

“How very pretty,” Meredith said appreciatively.

“I am so glad you like it.” Bella moved to a door in the far wall. “Your bedchamber is here.”

The bedchamber was in every respect as tasteful and welcoming as the boudoir. In addition to the poster bed with rich, rose silk hangings, it also contained Nan, who was supervising a girl unpacking Meredith's trunk.

Merrie opened her mouth to tell Nan to cease the unpacking since it was unlikely they would be here above one night, then she closed it again. It would not be appropriate to express doubts in front of Bella's servant, however freely she might do so with Nan.

“Charming,” she said instead to her hostess. “I am most sensible of your kindness, Lady Beaumont.”

“I had thought we had agreed to dispense with formality,” Bella smiled, turning back to the boudoir.

“If that is what you wish, Bella.” Merrie returned the smile warmly. “You will understand if I bid you good-night now. It has been a tiring seven days, and I have had some shocks this evening.”

“Yes, of course.” Bella made haste to assure Merrie of her understanding. “And I expect you will wish to be at your best in the morning when you confront Damian.” Her eyes danced, and the smile she directed at Meredith was most definitely conspiratorial. “I own I would like to see my brother meet his match.”

“After this night's work, Bella, I begin to doubt he will meet it in me.” Merrie shook her head in a degree of disbelief. “Seldom have I been so outplayed. However, I shall come about, make no mistake.”

Much later, lying in the unfamiliar, yet most comfortable bed, in her unfamiliar, but ineffably luxurious surroundings, Meredith admitted to herself some doubts as to that confident statement. Rutherford would have more than one trick up his sleeve, of that she had no doubt. He would not have brought her this far without the certainty that he could override all the objections he must have known she would make.

Nan had not offered any support either. She had decided that Cavendish Square would suit her very well, having been given a most comfortable room next to the housekeeper's apartments. That lady was proclaimed remarkably sensible and not at all like a Londoner. In fact, she was a very good sort indeed and had invited Nan to share her sitting room since it was clear Nan would not wish to mix with the riffraff in the servant's hall. Grantly, the butler, had condescended to bid her welcome, saying she should direct her complaints and desires to him and he would see all was right for her.

Quite clearly, this exceptional courtesy to the elderly maid of an unknown and hardly impressive guest had its roots in some shenanigans of Damian and Bella. Meredith was not to know—although Nan had already realized the fact—that her supposed fortune had assumed nabob proportions belowstairs, and her unfashionable country dress thereby found ample excuse as a mere eccentricity.

Nan, having put two and two together, was quite prepared to play along with the charade. It had clearly been initiated by Lord Rutherford in whom she reposed the most complete trust where Meredith's affairs were concerned.

Meredith woke to sunshine, sinfully late, the following morning. For once there had been no crack-of-dawn knock at the door heralding the arrival of hot water, no need to be on the road after an early, rushed breakfast. She slept dreamlessly and deeply, stretching with languid, pleasurable relaxation as her body swam upward to greet the new day.

“I was beginning to wonder if you intended to sleep the day away.” Nan pulled aside the bed curtains and placed a silver tray on the coverlet. “There's hot chocolate for you. Seems to be a custom in these parts,” she remarked with a sniff. “Encourages idleness, I'd say.”

“Maybe there is no great urgency to be up betimes,” Merrie murmured, propping herself up on the mound of fluffy pillows at her back and examining the steaming silver pot and plate of sweet biscuits with a degree of enthusiasm. Such a bedside arrival at home would be considered rampant self-indulgence leading inevitably to the wages of sin.

Nan just grunted. “Lady Beaumont's maid said as how her ladyship would await you in the breakfast parlor at your convenience,” she informed Meredith. “You'll be wanting to wear one of the new gowns.”

“Yes, the figured muslin,” Merrie agreed, her mouth full of biscuit. Her new gowns, while they might do very well in Kensington, were going to be lamentably unmodish in Cavendish Square, but they were all she had, and Meredith had never been one to complain over things she could not undo. Anyway, since she had absolutely no intention of going into society, however well-laid Damian's plans, it would hardly matter.