Temptress in Training (29 page)

He had the locket, of course, and all she had were a few sordid memories. Anything that had been beautiful and precious between them had been destroyed by his actions. He didn't even wake her to say good-bye.

Now Papa would meet justice, and she would be free to go beg Madame to take her back. She was well qualified to be far more than a seamstress now. Perhaps fate would be kind and she'd die young, as so many girls did.

But first, she'd allow herself one last vanity. She'd throw herself down on Lindley's soft bed and have a good, sniffling cry.

A knock at the door woke her. Apparently after shedding every tear in her body she'd fallen asleep. No telling how long she'd been that way. She should have tried to find a way to leave, to warn Papa that Lindley was coming, or at least to see about arranging her own life. The last thing she wanted was to stay here, trespassing on Lindley's goodwill as if she had any right to it. As if she wanted it.

But now someone was rapping at the door. A servant, most likely, come to evict her from the premises. Wimpole and his wife had been friendly and accommodating last night, but surely by now they realized what she was. Lindley's ridiculous story of her kidnapping and legitimate connection to Dashford was thin at best. Of course no one would truly believe it, especially as they must have noticed the man spent the entire night in her bed.

She did not belong here. This was his family home, not some shameless love nest where he might stash a ladybird now and then. She needed to leave, and surely now that he was gone, his servants would easily agree. She was glad, at least, the sunlight streaming in through the window assured her it was still early in the day. As she recalled, they'd passed through a village nearby. There would be plenty of time to make her way there. Perhaps the coins she'd earned on her back last night would be enough to buy her a seat on the coach back to London.

Straightening her clothes, she wiped the last trace of tears and went to the door, determined to keep some measure of dignity. The housekeeper might know what sort of woman she was, but Sophie certainly did not have to act like one in front of her. She would tell Mrs. Wimpole she was already packed to leave and ask direction to that little village.

She opened the door, and the words died on her lips.

“Annie?!”

And there, beside Annie in the corridor, was Madame herself, holding Annie's babe and smiling as if this were the grandest reunion of her life. Well, it certainly was the oddest. What on earth was Madame Eudora doing in Lord Lindley's family home?

And there was Wimpole with a very nervous Mrs. Wimpole.

“See, Wimpole?” Madame said with one of her dazzling smiles. “I told you there would be no trouble. Miss Darshaw and I are dear, dear friends.”

“Yes, er, Miss Eudora, but his lordship didn't say anything about you visiting…”

Wimpole was clearly as confused by everything as Sophie was. Still, he did seem to know Madame by name. What was she to make of that? She glanced at Annie, hoping for some sort of explanation. All she saw was an uncomfortable anxiousness in her friend's eyes. Well, at least Sophie wasn't the only one feeling a bit off balance by all of this.

But Madame seemed entirely at ease. She propped the babe more securely in her arms and brushed past the others, making her way right into Sophie's room as if she belonged there. Indeed, she glanced around the place and smiled.

“Thank heavens someone replaced that dour old wallpaper. This room was absolutely tomblike.”

Sophie did all she could not to let her mouth drop open and her jaw hang slack. By heavens,
did
Madame belong here?

“Come along, Annie,” Madame called behind her. “Mrs. W, bring up some tea, will you? The young ladies and I have so much to catch up on.”

“But Miss Eudora, what will his lordship say?” Mrs. Wimpole muttered, sounding quite beyond exasperated.

“Richard will be more than happy to find me here. Trust me, Mrs. W. The feud is long over and Richard has welcomed me back to the fold. I've only now decided to accept his most generous offer.”

The Wimpoles did not seem to quite believe that, yet they did not argue. Obviously, whatever the relationship was between these elderly servants and Madame, it was not one of strangers. Sophie hoped Madame had every intention of explaining.

“Now, how about that tea?” Madame said with another smile.

Mrs. Wimpole paused slightly, then gave a grudging little curtsy. Wimpole gave a nearly inaudible grunt, but both turned and made their way from the corridor. Annie scurried into the room behind Madame. Sophie shut the door.

“So,” Madame began, fairly tossing the babe to Annie and turning to run her approving gaze up and down Sophie's drab appearance. “Lindley had you here in
my
bed, did he?”

Sophie's jaw dropped.
Madame's bed? Good heavens!
What was she supposed to say to something like that?

But apparently Madame didn't expect a response. She went on perusing the room, touching things, studying things, and smiling in a way that was far from dazzling.

“Although I suppose Marie had my bed replaced years ago. I suppose I forget how much time has actually passed…”

Madame's leisurely way of examining the room was very off-putting. Sophie glanced at Annie, but she was consumed entirely with nuzzling her cooing child. All else was silent and tense. Even the air in the room felt strangely unbreathable.

“You've been here before, Madame?” Sophie asked when she could stand no more of the silence.

Madame laughed. “Not for years. Tell me, do you find it to your liking? I would imagine Haven Abbey is quite luxurious for you, dear Sophie.”

“I've only been here a few hours, Madame,” Sophie replied.

“Oh come now, Sophie. Can you not tell me you would give almost everything to live in a place such as this? Can you just imagine it, being mistress of such a home?”

Madame laughed again, a shrill sound, almost like breaking glass.

“No,” Sophie replied, stepping closer to Annie. “I can't. I could never see myself as mistress of such a place.”

“Of course you can't.” Madame sighed, turning from her perusal of a needlework pillow. “That's always been your trouble, Sophie. You have no idea what you could attain if you'd only reach your hand out to take it.”

Personally, Sophie felt she'd reached out and taken quite a lot lately. Whatever did Madame mean by that, anyway? It was all so confusing.

Mrs. Wimpole arrived at the door with their tea. She let herself in, and Madame ordered her about sharply, directing her to place the tray on the table near the window and then leave them. The woman complied, but Sophie was quite certain there was mumbling under her breath as she left. She couldn't really blame her. Something about Madame's demeanor was, well, demeaning.

“Come, Sophie,” Madame said abruptly. “We'll let Annie get the tea ready. Let me show you some of the abbey.”

“But won't the tea be cold, Madame?”

“Nonsense. Mrs. W always brings it too hot anyway. Walk with me, Sophie. Annie knows what to do.”

Annie nervously stroked and fussed over her child, but she assured Madame she would prepare the tea. Sophie noted the woman's hands were shaking.
Good heavens, why should that be?
But Madame took Sophie's arm and looped it around hers, not giving her much choice but to walk beside her out into the corridor.

“So, dear Sophie, tell me what you think of my fine home here,” Madame said.

“
Your
home? Er, it's very lovely,” Sophie said, wondering what else she could say. Madame's words were shocking, to say the least.

“It's not lovely,” Madame corrected. “It's archaic. It's drafty in the winter and far too huge to keep up with. Why, I daresay there are rooms in this moldering castle that no one has visited in years. It's ridiculous that it has sat virtually empty all these years. Now I…I would have done something with it.”

Sophie stared at the floor and let Madame lead her. Everything inside her screamed out that something was very, very wrong.

“You seem a bit nervous, Sophie.”

“Er, I suppose so, Madame, but…”

“You are afraid Lindley might not approve of my being here?”

“Well, frankly…yes.”

Madame snorted. “Silly girl. You have no idea. Obviously he has not told you who I am, has he?”

“I thought I knew who you were, Madame,” Sophie replied cautiously.

Madame clicked her tongue and shook her head. “To think, little Sophie, I'd begun to suspect he actually cared more for you than just what he could get between your legs. Clearly I was wrong.”

Well, that was more than insulting.

“All Lord Lindley has ever truly been interested in has been capturing my father,” she happily informed her former employer. “Any, er, other interest was purely due to my own talents for distraction.”

“Ah, suddenly you've become an expert in feminine wiles, have you? Really now, Sophie. If you were such a grand distraction for the man, why did he rush off the very minute the sun rose this morning?”

Bother.
How on earth did Madame know what time Lindley left her today? And truly, what business was it of hers? What was this woman's relation to Lindley, anyway?

“His lordship is highly motivated to capture my father,” she replied.

“Oh? And does he suddenly believe he knows where he might find your father?”

“He has some idea, I believe.”

“Did you tell him?” Madame asked.

“Of course not,” Sophie said. “I have no idea where to find my father. And even if I did, why would I tell Lindley?”

“You would not have had to tell him if you gave him that locket.”

At this Sophie could only stare at the woman. How could Madame know of the locket?

“Oh, don't pretend you don't know about it,” Madame said, pinning her with a gaze like daggers. “I'm aware you took that locket from Fitzgelder, my dear. Did Lindley lure you into giving it to him? Or did you fancy yourself in love and just hand it over voluntarily?”

“I most certainly am not in love with Lindley!”

“Then you still have the locket?”

“Er, no…”

“So you gave it to him.”

“I did not!”

“Then who has it, Sophie? Honestly, did you simply lose track of it? Something so important to your family and you lost it?”

“I did not. I…er, my father has it.”

This clearly surprised Madame, but Sophie could not tell if this was in a good way or a bad way.

“Your father has it?”

“Yes. Of course.”

She wasn't quite certain why she lied. Silly, but Madame's odd behavior and accusations were making her feel like a scolded child. She should not have to take it from this woman. Not after Madame withheld information about her father all those years, after she showed up inexplicably here and threw the servants into a fluster, after she accused Sophie of willfully handing her father over to the enemy and then had the absolute nerve to suggest Sophie might actually be in love with the man!

“Did your father tell you why this locket is so important?” Madame asked.

“It's believed to contain a list of conspirators,” Sophie answered.

“I see. And is that all he told you?”

“The locket is also a key.”

Now Madame nodded her head, silently contemplating things. What things the woman might have to contemplate Sophie could not guess, since it was clear nothing she'd told her about the locket appeared to be new information for Madame.

“So your father told you about the treasure,” Madame said.

“Treasure? There is a treasure?” Good heavens, what on earth was the woman talking about now?

“Of course there's a treasure,” Madame said with a toss of her head. “And now that your father has the key and Lindley does not, this means I hold all the cards in my hand.”

“Er, what cards are those, Madame?” Sophie asked, her head swimming with all this new information.

“Well,
you
for one, my dear,” Madame said.

Her painted lips spread into a broad smile. This time it was not dazzling, but something more like the expression on a cat after finding the lid off the creamer. Except that on a cat, that expression was likable.

“Ah, but look, Sophie,” Madame went on, turning her attention toward the paintings around them. “It is the family portrait gallery. Did you see these?”

“Yes, they are lovely. Lord Lindley had a beautiful family.”

“
Had?
Ah, so he told you what happened.”

“He mentioned some of it,” she admitted. There was no need to tell Madame that Lindley's sole reason for confiding in her was so she could realize her father's part in his suffering.

“I suppose by telling you all his sorrows he gained more of your sympathy,” Madame said.

“Of course he has my sympathy. To lose a wife and child would be dreadful.”

Madame seemed amazed she did indeed know so much of Lindley's past. Sophie felt just a bit smug, but Madame's wicked smile wiped some of that away.

They had paused before the portrait of the young woman with the child. Madame was staring at them. Yes, Sophie had guessed right. This was Lindley's family, and Madame knew them, somehow.

“Of course you recognized the painting. The child certainly did favor Lindley, did he not? And Marie was quite lovely, wasn't she?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you realize someone like you could never hope to take her place.”

Sophie felt her eye twitch. “Yes, Madame. I know exactly who and what I am.”

“Good. That's a lesson you've long needed to learn, my girl.”

Oh, she'd learned it, indeed. She'd learned at the hands of an expert. A bag of coins and an empty bed was proof of her passing marks. It was a lesson she'd never, ever forget.

 

H
IS ANGRY STOMACH RUMBLED, AND
L
INDLEY HAD TO
admit he was exhausted. Perhaps he should have eaten something before he'd run off this morning. But how could he? The longer he'd dawdled at Haven Abbey the more likely he was to give up on his goal altogether. It was hard enough to leave when he did.

As it was, his hurried departure had done little to further his goal. He'd made it to Loveland and stole quietly up to a low ridge overlooking the cottage. Indeed, smoke curled from the chimney and the two theatrical wagons Tom had reported were right there in plain view. Tom, however, was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, Lindley had been forced to leave Loveland and go looking for him.