Suzanne Robinson (9 page)

“Yes, and while you’re at it get enough for the Dower House. Now listen. You must promise to take your time and choose only the best. Study each flower.”

Val sighed. “Is this a de Granville remedy for crushed souls?”

“I’ll bet you a new hunter that you feel better after doing it. But you have to promise to try.”

Gazing at the garden that stretched out below the terrace, Val nodded. “I’ll do it. But only because I know you’ll make me go to the Dower House with you if I don’t.”

“You do know me well,” Alexis said.

Meredith appeared again. “My lord, Miss Grey is getting into the carriage. She wouldn’t wait.”

“The coachman will. Damned impertinent little midge.”

He took his time getting into his topcoat. After settling his hat on his head, he strolled outside, tugging at his gloves. She was annoyed. He could tell because she sat up too straight and stared at the coachman’s back.

Sliding into place opposite her, Alexis eyed her while addressing the coachman. “Maitland House, please.”

They rode in silence. It seemed to him that the young lady would be content to peruse the scenery and not talk to him the whole way. Didn’t she know how to engage a man’s interest?

“Losing your cousin is a terrible tragedy.”

Miss Grey jerked her head around in his direction so quickly he could hear the ribbons of her bonnet rustle against her cloak. She regarded him for a moment before speaking.

“Ophelia was a loving woman, and young to die, like her namesake, only instead of drowning, she burned.” Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together.

Alexis shook his head. “Don’t think about it. Besides, she would have died from the smoke long before the flames consumed her.”

“ ‘I thought thy bride-bed to have deck’d, sweet maid,/ And not have strewed thy grave.’ ”

“Do all Americans quote Shakespeare, Miss Grey?”

“Don’t sound so incredulous, my lord. She didn’t scream.”

He lifted his brows and leaned back. “What?”

“Ophelia didn’t scream. I would have heard her.”

“If she was asleep when the smoke overcame her, she wouldn’t have awakened.”

She was looking at him oddly again. It was that look that made him feel like a diseased rodent. Lovely women shouldn’t make a fellow feel like a diseased rodent.

“Last night after dinner I noticed that Ophelia was
nervous,” she said. “She bounced about so much her skirt got too near the fire and caught the flames. I had to put them out.”

He shook his head. “Ophelia was always careless.”

Miss Grey hadn’t left off her Lord Justice’s stare. “She also prowled around the house after everyone was asleep. What do you think kept her awake?”

“I don’t know.” Alexis grew uncomfortable under the young lady’s scrutiny, and it was a new experience. Women looked at him often, but he had a feeling Miss Grey’s reasons for doing so weren’t the usual ones. He stared back at her, and she finally transferred her attention to the coachman’s hat.

The drive continued with Alexis studying Miss Grey and Miss Grey ignoring Alexis. The more she ignored him, the angrier he grew.

“You’re from America, Miss Grey.”

“Yes, but Mother is English. She was Ophelia’s father’s sister. Mother married a gentleman from Virginia.”

“I vaguely remember people talking about it when I was young, but you mentioned San Francisco, which is supposed to be in California.”

“It is in California. We took the Overland Trail in ’49. My father struck gold a few years ago, and Mother wanted to come back to England.”

“You must be grateful.”

There it was again. That look.

“Miss Grey, I feel it my duty as a host to warn you not to look at gentlemen as if they were insects. It’s off-putting and unladylike.”

He smiled, then caught his breath at the firecracker sparks that went off in her eyes as she lost her temper. The sheer excitement of it caused him to toy with the idea of evoking an explosion from her. Unfortunately, the coach was stopping before battered Maitland House. He watched in admiration as Miss Grey got out of the carriage
by herself. She opened the door, gathered her skirts in one hand, and swung herself down the steps before the footman could reach her. She faced him.

“You’re right.”

“About what?” Alexis asked.

“I was looking at you as if you were an insect.”

Leaving him red-faced and bereft of a retort, Katherine Ann Grey walked up the steps of Maitland House with the clear implication that he was of no further interest to her.

Alexis stayed in the carriage and gawked at her back. He couldn’t believe it. She just got up and left. She wasn’t worried that he thought she was unladylike. She didn’t cower at his displeasure. He wished she were a boy so he could thrash her. He wished she were one of his men so he could have her put under close arrest.

Alexis jumped out of the carriage and strode quickly toward the house to catch up with the savage Miss Grey. This young lady needed to be taught a lesson. Respect was what she should give him. Politeness and respect.

He ran her to ground in the drawing room. She was standing beside a plain wooden coffin with her head bowed. His steps slowed. He came to rest beside her and heard her draw in a ragged breath. Restraining the urge to wipe away the tear that slid down one of her cheeks, Alexis forgot his anger.

She spread out her gloved hands on the top of the coffin. “I’m afraid to look.”

He pulled her away and headed for the entryway.

“There’s nothing to see,” he said. “And no reason for you to look.”

When they were in the front hall, he stood with his body between Miss Grey and the servants scurrying back and forth in their cleaning chores. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, then twisted a crumpled handkerchief so violently, he thought it would rip. Just when he thought
she would ask to be taken home, she whirled and walked past him to the stairs.

“Wait.” He caught up with her.

“I want to see her room.”

“Why?” He stepped over a piece of charred wood and turned to give his hand to Miss Grey. She took it and hopped over the obstruction.

“I want to know how the fire started.”

“It was probably a spark from the fireplace, or an overturned candle.”

Miss Grey continued on her way upstairs. “I want to know.”

Crossthwaite was directing the removal of furniture and met them on the landing. He led them to Ophelia’s room. The floor was burned, but it remained intact in the area around the threshold. Alexis looked in at the black hollow cave. Skeletons of brittle charcoal were all that was left of the furniture. Last night he’d only been able to see flames.

“Do you know what caused the fire?” Miss Grey asked Crossthwaite.

“We think an overturned candle, miss, one on the table beside the armchair near the fireplace. Lady Ophelia had fallen to the floor in front of the chair.”

“But I didn’t hear her scream.”

“She must have fallen asleep in the chair and knocked the candle over,” Alexis said.

“That is my theory, my lord. Lady Ophelia was fully dressed.” Crossthwaite hesitated, then lowered his voice. “We found the remains of a hoop and some jewelry.”

Miss Grey shook her head. “I warned her about that stupid hoop.”

Alexis took her arm and drew her away from the room. “There’s no need to feel guilty for not hearing her. She obviously slept while the fire smoldered and never woke.
You could see the remains of a glass. She may have had a glass of milk and nodded off.”

“Perhaps,” Miss Grey said. “Crossthwaite, you know the arrangements for Lady Ophelia’s body. Also, we’ll need to move the stable animals and the servants. I’m sending for drapers and furniture merchants from London. Lord Sinclair is sending carpenters. You may tell everyone that the staff of Maitland House will not be changed. All your people will have wages through the time it will take to repair the house. When the repairs are completed, Mrs. Grey will be living here with Lady Emeline. They will keep the staff unchanged.”

“Yes, miss.”

As Alexis listened to her giving instructions, he soon felt like unnecessary baggage. At the end of her conversation with the butler, Miss Grey made ready to leave, and Alexis followed her to the carriage, like a page attending the mistress of a medieval castle.

The drive back was spent in polite conversation. He would offer a tidbit and sit back to see if Miss Grey accepted his offering. They eyed each other like a cat and a dog stuck together in a closed railroad car. At last his irritation got the better of him.

“Really, Miss Grey, all this activity is quite unnecessary. I’ll be happy to manage everything while you’re so stricken with grief for your cousin.”

He must have heard wrong. Surely no lady knew the word he thought she’d muttered as she turned on him.

“No thank you. I don’t want your help, marquess. And did it ever occur to you that some women can’t afford to fall apart when bad things happen? Not all of us have big strong men to take care of us. Not all of us need them.” Her voice broke, but she swallowed and continued. “Do you think I want to sit in a dark room and cry all day? No thank you, sir. Now, since the carriage has stopped, do you
think you could open the door so this poor weak simpleton can get out?”

As soon as her foot touched the ground, Miss Grey excused herself, saying she needed to go to her room to sort out the wreck of her papers and wardrobe. Alexis got the feeling she was more concerned about her business correspondence and legal documents than she was about her clothing. Inside the castle, he followed her progress up the stairs. He couldn’t decide what to watch, the sway of her hips or the play of sunlight and shadow on her hair. Since most of her hair was covered by a bonnet, he settled on her hips.

Once she was gone, he was able to think more clearly. The more he thought, the more irritated he became. Nothing had gone as he’d expected that afternoon. Furthermore, a beautiful woman had just abandoned him for legal papers. And she had as good as called him an insect and accused him of insensitivity. It must be her American upbringing. Miss Grey wanted manners. What she needed was to go into Society so that she could see for herself how a lady treated a gentleman. If she could see how Carolina Beechwith behaved toward him, or Fulke’s wife, Hannah, her shortcomings would be obvious to her.

Kate charged through the great hall, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The room was more cavern than anything else, and halfway down she stopped and looked around. She’d been so furious with that stuffy peacock of a marquess, she’d forgotten which door to take out of this place. One, two, three, four, five. She stopped counting doors. Recessed behind identical pointed arches, any could be the one she needed. Over her shoulder she spied what the housekeeper had called the musician’s gallery, high above floor level. That wasn’t the way.

Feeling her insides begin to shake, Kate gripped her skirt with her hands. The presumption of the man, to assume she didn’t care that Ophelia was—No, she couldn’t start down that path again or she’d end up on the floor crying, and everyone would hear her. She had work to do, work that would keep the hurt at bay.

“You’re one of those Americans.”

Kate started and whipped around, scanning the various alcoves for the origin of that booming voice.

“Ophelia is dead, I hear.”

This time Kate spotted the owner of the hunting-horn voice. A woman in black stood in a window recess beside a suit of armor. Sunlight from the window behind the speaker made Kate squint as she approached the woman.

“Yes, she’s dead. It was horrible.”

Kate stopped a few paces from the woman. She was looking down at her, which made Kate uncomfortable. Abruptly, she realized she was looking at another de Granville. There was the familiar tall, long-limbed body, a female version of that square chin, and the air of dignity that reminded her of royalty on its way to the guillotine.

The woman didn’t reply. Kate waited, but the woman was distracted by a wet black nose that thrust itself from beneath her skirts. She bent and picked up a white ball of fur that seemed to have consumption. Too fat for its legs, it wheezed and snorted and grunted while the woman talked to it.

“My little poppin is testy today. Yes he is. He’s a little testy sweetpea, he is. His Papa will be most annoyed with my little poppin.” The woman tucked the dog under her arm and glanced at Kate. “My husband detests hearing Terrence breathe. That’s why we’re walking in the hall. We’re quite old now, and can hardly see or hear, but we still enjoy our little walks. You’re one of those Americans, and I am Juliana de Granville. You will address me as Lady Juliana. You may shake my hand.”

In a fog, Kate did as ordered. “Lady Juliana—but I thought your husband was—”

“Off to the city this morning. I do so tire of doing without him when the King summons him for consultation. Who are you?”

“I’m Katherine Grey, Ophelia’s cousin.”
This woman
talks about her dead husband as if he’s alive. And she thinks King William is still on the throne.

“You don’t keep a grizzly bear for a pet, do you?” Lady Juliana asked.

Kate’s eyes opened as wide as they could. “No ma’am.”

“Or wear a pistol in a holster?”

“Not in England.”

“And you don’t keep any Red Indians about you?”

“They don’t like white people much,” Kate said. “No.”

“Then you may stay.” Lady Juliana shifted Terrence to her other arm and cooed at him while he wheezed, then she surveyed Kate. “You’re a polite and sensible young woman. No Red Indians, no bears. I have decided to like you.”

“Thank you, Lady Juliana.”

“And that means I have to warn you about my son.” Juliana darted glances at various corners of the hall before continuing. “Alexis is, well, not a boy of even temper. The marquess and I have quite a bit of trouble with him. Not to put too fine a point on it, Miss Grey, Alexis can be deceitful. In the past he’s done some shameful things, so beware.”

“Thank you for the warning, my lady.” Kate backed away as Lady Juliana moved past her toward the musician’s gallery.