The Bargain (23 page)

“Alan's moved out of Carlton House,” Lord Sebastian informed her one afternoon.

“He has gone back to Oxford?” she said and held her breath waiting for the answer.

“Moved into Langford House,” was the puzzled reply. “M'mother's pleased, of course, but it's deuced odd. Can't think why he's staying. Usually he can't wait to get away.”

“What does he say, when you ask him?” dared Ariel.

“Ask? Oh, well, I don't believe anyone's asked.”

She tried to look innocently inquiring.

“One doesn't, with Alan. Particularly lately.”

“Why particularly?” she wondered, trying to remember to breathe normally.

“He's in a foul mood,” Lord Sebastian explained, seeming to see nothing out of the way in confiding this to her. “As likely to snap your head off as say good morning. Told Robert one of his waistcoats was a—what was it?—a shameful waste of the light needed to illuminate it.”

A spurt of laughter escaped Ariel.

“No one's asking him anything,” Lord Sebastian concluded.

She pondered this information for an evening, turning it this way and that to see what it might mean. She had come to no conclusion the next day, when she found Lord Robert in the kitchen telling Hannah, “He plays half the night. Thinks no one notices, but of course we all do.”

“Notices what?” asked Ariel.

“Alan playing the pianoforte. In the dark.”

“How strange.” Her tone must have been strange as well, Ariel realized, catching a sharp look from Hannah.

“It's dashed peculiar,” said Lord Robert. “He don't even like people to know he can play. And now there he is, pounding away loud as you please, as if all that fuss had never happened.”

“What fuss?” Ariel sat down at the kitchen table and forced herself to look only mildly curious.

“My mother used to brag about him, when we were small,” answered Lord Robert distractedly. “Told all her friends he was some kind of prodigy. Then they all started wanting to hear and would have him called down to the drawing room to play for them during morning calls.” He shook his head. “Alan despised it. You remember, Hannah?”

The older woman nodded feelingly.

“My mother was sorry by then, but the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. Until Alan figured it out.”

“What?” asked Ariel, strongly moved by the picture of the talented little boy on exhibit to the gossips of the
ton
.

Lord Robert laughed. “He started playing like a normal seven-year-old,” he said. “Penance for the ears. After a while, everyone put down my mother as a doting parent with a tin ear, and the command performances stopped. I don't think he ever played for anyone outside the family after that,” he added meditatively. “Keeps it dead quiet.” He looked self-conscious suddenly. “You won't mention that I…”

“Of course not,” Ariel assured him. She was afire by this time with the desire to hear Alan play. It was a moment before she remembered that she would probably never speak to him again, let alone be admitted to the select ranks of those who had heard him.

It was the fourth day by the time she saw Lord Highgrove again, and it appeared that he had come expressly to speak to her. “I thought this business with the ‘ghost' at Carlton House was settled?” he asked without preamble.

Ariel nodded. “Some actors were behind it. They've been stopped.”

“Then what's Alan doing with the prince's men?”

She gazed back at him blankly.

“Spends half the day conferring with them or sending them here or there. My mother is…” He hesitated, smiling slightly. “Curious,” he finished. “Is there something else the matter with the prince?”

Ariel couldn't resist raising her eyebrows.

“Beyond the obvious,” added Lord Highgrove dryly. “Something Alan's involved with.”

“I have no idea.”

“But I thought you and he were…” He broke off, and Ariel waited with a good deal of interest and trepidation to see how he would end the sentence. “I thought you were working together on the investigation,” he said finally.

Ariel let out her breath in a sigh. “No longer,” she answered.

“Oh. Er…”

Lord Highgrove didn't stay long after that. She had made him uncomfortable, Ariel thought. But she didn't know what else she could have said.

By the fifth day, she decided she had to get out. This waiting about as if something was going to happen was unendurable. And the continual flow of secondhand information about Lord Alan was becoming frustrating and painful.

She had been wanting to ask Flora Jennings a few more questions, she thought. She had the sense that the woman knew more about her mother than she had revealed. She would go and see her. She had put on her bonnet, gotten her gloves and reticule, and marched downstairs to the front door when Lord Sebastian Gresham appeared from the basement stairs. “Hullo,” he said amiably.

“Good,” replied Ariel. “You can come with me.”

“Where to?”

“I'm going to call on Flora Jennings.” And she didn't really want to visit that neighborhood alone, Ariel thought.

Lord Sebastian expressed enthusiasm about making the acquaintance of the girl who had Robert studying dead languages. Outside, he flagged down a cab, and they clattered over the cobblestones in silence for a time, then her companion ventured, “Alan hasn't been much in evidence lately.”

Ariel said nothing.

“Used to be in and out of the house like a regular jack-in-the-box,” Lord Sebastian mused.

She felt his scrutiny and kept her chin high.

“You two haven't quarreled, have you?”

“Quarreled?” repeated Ariel, as if the mere thought was ridiculous. “What would we have to quarrel about?”

He didn't answer, and when Ariel gave him a sidelong glance under her lashes, she saw that he looked uncharacteristically thoughtful. Let him think what he liked, she told herself defiantly.

Flora Jennings was at the house, and she welcomed Ariel with calm cordiality. To Lord Sebastian, she was merely polite, and she seemed completely impervious to the famous charm of his smile.

“I understand you have caught the ghost,” she said coolly when they had all sat down.

“Yes,” acknowledged Ariel. “Some of the younger actors at the theater were behind the hoax.”

“Out of friendship for Bess?”

“The leader, Michael Heany, said they thought something more should be done about her death.”

“And so it should,” replied Flora Jennings intensely. “But Prinny has gotten his way, as usual. He can go back to thinking only of his own pleasures and ignoring the misery of his subjects.”

“I don't know what he could have done for my mother,” said Ariel, forced to be honest.

The other woman turned her bright blue gaze on her, staring as if she were trying to look right through her. “You are wearing Bess's ring,” she said.

Ariel looked down at her right hand. “Yes. You remember it? She sent it to me, only the package went astray, so I just received it.” She hesitated. “There was a note, too.”

Flora leaned forward. “What did she say?”

“It wasn't very… informative. Mainly it showed that she was distressed and… despairing.” Whenever she focused on that note, Ariel began to feel surges of grief.

Their hostess's gaze was unwavering. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I don't know what else to do,” Ariel admitted. “I have spoken to everyone I can think of, and no one seems to have noticed anything out of the way. I suppose I will never really know the reason why she… did it.”

“So you are giving up?” was the fierce reply.

Stung, Ariel said, “What do you suggest? I came here today because it seemed to me that you must have known my mother rather well, through your work together. And yet you have told me very little.”

Some of Flora's intensity faded. Now, she looked doubtful and sad. “If I knew the answer…” she began, then fell silent.

“If there is an answer,” said Ariel.

The other woman's fists clenched and unclenched in her lap. “I cannot get over the injustice and unfairness of it. We seem to be surrounded by injustice and unfairness. Is there nothing to be done?”

“You are doing something,” Ariel pointed out.

Flora made a throwaway gesture. “So little. Bess had grand ideas. We were going to raise larger sums through her acquaintances and find a house in the country where the children could…” She repeated the gesture. “That is all at an end now.”

“Perhaps not.”

“It can't be done without Bess,” declared Flora very positively. After a pause, she added, “So, she's simply gone, then. Gone.”

Ariel shivered as the tide of emptiness and loss swept over her again. She couldn't speak.

“That's the way it is,” continued the other woman, in a bitter tone that said she had heard these words many times. She rose. “I must get back to my work.”

“But couldn't we—” began Ariel.

“You must excuse me,” Flora interrupted. “I really have no time for idle conversation.”

A bit offended, Ariel stood. Lord Sebastian, who had been studiously silent, joined her with alacrity. They were seen to the door with what Ariel thought was a little too much eagerness, and in another moment they were in the street climbing into their waiting cab.

“Robert has lost his mind,” exclaimed Lord Sebastian when they started moving. “That girl is exactly like Aunt Agatha.”

Early the following week, Alan stood stiffly in Ariel Harding's front parlor waiting for her to appear and wondering what he was doing there. He had been wondering what he was doing for several days, and disliking the sensation intensely. Yet he couldn't seem to stop. His state of mind had been disordered since Ariel had refused him.

At first he had been simply incredulous. He had made careful plans, gone through intense deliberations; he had overcome his reluctance to wed, set aside his disinclination to do so. And she had refused him! It hadn't even occurred to him to consider this contingency. And this simple fact had forced him to recognize that he had not escaped all the prejudices of his class. He had believed that he thought of himself as a simple scholar. But with Ariel's rejection of his proposal, the duke's son had emerged in outrage, asking how she dared?

She was the daughter of a common actress, this part of himself had pointed out with sardonic clarity, an actress whose personal life had been notoriously disreputable. She ought to have gone down on her knees in gratitude for an offer from him, this drawling inner voice had continued. She ought to have been overcome with the magnitude of such an honor. She must be a trollop like her mother.

He hadn't liked this voice, had despised it, in fact. But it was true that in the world's terms, Ariel's refusal was astonishing. He was a better match than she could ever have hoped for. And setting this aside, he knew her to be a fastidious and honorable creature. It seemed logical that she would wish to marry to salvage her reputation. And yet, she didn't. There was nothing logical about this situation at all.

She simply didn't wish to marry him, Alan thought, with a mixture of disbelief, anger, and pique that he still had not sorted out. Not even for significant material advantages, not to regularize a slip that would ruin her if it became known. She had said that it would spoil her life to be married to him.

The worst of it was, Ariel Harding haunted him far more effectively than Prinny's ghost had ever managed at Carlton House. He had not been able to dismiss her from his mind like a failed hypothesis and go on to something more productive. He dreamed of her; he seemed to catch her flowery scent as he walked in the street. Sometimes, he felt as if he were going mad.

The only thing that had allowed him some respite from this storm of emotion was working to fathom the mystery of the documents she had found. Telling himself it was the intellectual challenge that drew him, he spent every waking hour in investigation. And now, at last, he had results to report. He would show her, he thought, though precisely what he meant to show remained unclear.

There was a sound from the entry, and then Ariel appeared in the doorway. She wore a simple gown of green muslin, and she looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Alan found himself unable to speak for a moment. She was looking at him as if she couldn't imagine what he was doing in her parlor. “I've found Daniel Bolton,” he managed finally.

Ariel stood very still, her hazel eyes widening. “My father?” she asked.

He did not point out that this remained to be proved.

She was still and silent for another brief period, then she said, “Where?”

“He lives at Ivydene Manor in Somerset.”

“Somerset?” she repeated, as if he had said China or Borneo. “In the country?” she added incredulously.

He nodded.

“But my mother hated the country.”

For the first time, she met his eyes. She had forgotten everything else in this revelation about her supposed father, Alan saw. She wasn't thinking of him, or of their last awkward time together, or of whether she had been wrong to refuse him. He felt a spark of irritation.

“Are you sure it's the right man?” she asked.

“It is not an uncommon name,” he admitted in rather clipped tones. “However, the evidence appears reliable.”

“What evidence?”

“He was married on the day listed in the document you gave me,” said Alan. “He is of the right age; he had been in London.”

“But…” Ariel rubbed her forehead, then began to pace the length of the room. “What else? What is he like? Does he—?”

“We have not found out a great deal more about him as yet.”

She was turned away from him, walking down the room. “It is rather unsettling,” she admitted.

He acknowledged this with a noncommittal sound.

“You know nothing more about him at all?”

“Not as yet,” Alan repeated. He intended to find out everything there was to know about this Bolton, he thought with unexpected vehemence.

Ariel had resumed pacing, her expression miles away. He might not even have been in the room, Alan thought. She was totally engrossed in this unknown man, who might or might not be her father.

“I must go down to Somerset at once to meet him,” she said. She clasped her hands before her as if to keep them from trembling.

Alan watched her.

“I must know what he's like,” said Ariel. “For so many years I've wondered.”

“It would be better to wait and let us investigate further,” he replied, even though he could see it was useless.

“I can't. Now that I know my father is—”

“It is far from certain that he is your father,” Alan couldn't help saying sharply.

“He must be.” Ariel gripped her hands tighter. He could see the knuckles whiten with the pressure she exerted. “He has to be.”

“It would be wise to proceed carefully,” he began.

“I can't,” she cried. “You don't understand. I have to know.”

Although he had expected this reaction, he hadn't realized that it would annoy him so deeply to have Ariel completely focused on another man. She would go to Somerset, he thought, meet some stranger and designate him her father on irrational, emotional grounds, and never come back. He couldn't stop her. “I will escort you there,” he said.

“You?” She looked startled.

Did she finally remember his presence? Alan wondered savagely. “Hannah will accompany us on the road,” he added.

Ariel's expression could only be described as peculiar. He would have given a large sum to know what was behind it. “Hannah could come with me,” she said. “You needn't accompany us.”

Now that she had what she wanted, he was superfluous, he thought.

“We could hire outriders,” she added. “I wouldn't wish to trouble you.”

She was watching him as if his answer was very important. Alan wondered if there was something he had missed. But with her wide hazel eyes steadily on him, he couldn't seem to think clearly. “I intend to see this investigation through to the end,” he said.

Ariel frowned. “I am very grateful for your help,” she said, seeming to speak carefully. “And especially for finding my father, but I don't require your assistance any longer. You may go back to Oxford, as you have always wished to do.”

And be damned to you, Alan thought, his annoyance becoming something stronger. “I cannot abandon my responsibilities until we are certain of Daniel Bolton's identity,” he replied. “Once that is confirmed, I will be happy to leave you in his care.”

A spark ignited in her changeable eyes. “Like some sort of annoying parcel?”

“That is not what I—”

“I don't require anyone's care. I am quite capable of taking care of myself!”

“That's not what you said when you received your mother's ring,” he snapped.

She gasped.

Alan cursed inwardly. He hadn't meant to refer to that afternoon, and only partly out of consideration for her. The memories that flooded back were searing. She had been eager in his arms, he thought. She had seemed to want him as much as he wanted her.

“Why do you want to come?” Ariel said.

“To make certain this Daniel Bolton is… acceptable,” he answered.

“So that I will have someone to take care of me?” she added, gazing at him intensely once again.

Somewhat mystified by her tone, he nodded. It was as good an explanation as any.

“Your responsibilities will be discharged. And then you will be free to go back to your work at Oxford?” she finished.

He supposed he would be. And she would stay in Somerset, miles away from him. His pulse was pounding in his temples. He longed to crush her in his arms, to command her to obey him. But he had no right. She had refused him. “Yes,” he said baldly.

Ariel turned away toward the window and looked out at the street. He couldn't see her face. Her slender form was very straight. “Shall I order a post chaise for tomorrow?” he asked, controlling his voice as if it were a matter of indifference to him.

“Very well,” she said quietly.

She sounded resigned. But in the elation of knowing that he would be spending the next several days in her company, Alan found he didn't care.

***

Summer was bursting over the countryside, and they drove through fields heavy with green. The air was soft, scented with flowers, and birds and squirrels were busy in the branches. When they set off on the second morning, mist rose from the grass and the sky was awash with pink and pearl.

Hannah and Ariel rode together in the hired post chaise. Alan ranged ahead of and behind the carriage on his great black horse, looking at things and breathing in great gulps of the sweet air. Occasionally, he would come up beside them and speak to Hannah. “Listen, there's a thrush,” he told her. Or, “See that hawthorn? Remember the hedge in Kent?” When the carriage plunged into a ford, and Ariel hung on as water splashed up the sides, he set his mount cantering through the stream and laughed at the glitter of spray fanning out from its hooves on the wind.

“He seems to like the country,” Ariel commented to Hannah. Indeed, Alan seemed like a different person from the man who had been trapped at Carlton House for the last few weeks.

“He always has,” was the calm reply. Hannah apparently had not noticed that her two traveling companions rarely spoke to each other directly, but rather addressed her instead. At any rate, she pretended not to notice.

They spent that night at an inn in Bath, and the following morning turned south. The weather remained warm, but rain began around eleven and settled in. The road, which was worse than the London-Bath route to begin with, became a mire. They pushed on through mud up to the axles that day and the next, when the rain finally ended. But they did not reach Wells, with its great cathedral, until very late.

Fortunately, the inn there was a good one. In half an hour, they were settled before a warm fire and dining on roast chicken and fresh-baked bread. Ariel had a glass of wine and watched Lord Alan covertly from under lowered lashes. Was he really only here because of his sense of responsibility? she wondered. Was it really vital to his sense of honor to place her in her father's care? The man she had first met in a cupboard at Carlton House would not have thought so, she thought. He had been wildly impatient to get back to his work, and not particularly interested in anyone else's concerns.

And then they had worked together, and she had thought they had become friends. But even that wasn't enough to explain the change. No, it was the time they had been together in her mother's room that had altered everything. Ariel's cheeks reddened slightly as she recalled each detail of that afternoon, and she looked down into her wineglass, hoping no one would notice.

He believed he had ruined her, she thought, and that he had to make amends. But since he had come to call and had told her the news about Daniel Bolton, she had been considering this question more deeply. He was the son of a duke, and she was the daughter of no one in the opinion of the world. An offer of marriage had
not
been required of him. The most honorable nobleman of the
haut
ton
, under these circumstances, would have offered money, perhaps support for her household and a position as his mistress—but never marriage. That she would have thrown the money back in his face was irrelevant.

And then there was the fact that when she had refused his astonishing offer, he had stayed in town, even though he hated it, and searched for her father. The more she examined the situation, the odder it appeared. She almost began to hope that responsibility was the least of it. She almost dared to believe that some stronger emotion was involved.

The landlady came to remove the dishes. A small yapping dog hurtled after her into the room, its fur like a bundle of rags, its bark like a series of hiccups. “Quiet, Lovie,” commanded the woman. “Get out, then.” Quickly putting plates and cutlery on a tray, she shooed the little dog with her foot. “Sorry, sir, madam. Lovie, get out!”

Lovie had other ideas. He trotted over to Alan and made as if to attach himself to his lower leg.

Alan made a sound like a growling wolf.

Looking startled, the little dog sat back on his haunches and stared upward. The landlady regarded Alan with an almost identical expression of amazement.

Lovie made a tentative move forward. Alan growled again and froze him in his tracks.

The landlady picked up the loaded tray, looking as if she wasn't sure whether to be offended. “Come, Lovie,” she said as she walked out. The dog hesitated, then started backing away from Alan. Finally, he turned and trotted out as if this had been his idea from the beginning.

“What was that?” Ariel couldn't refrain from saying.

“Dogs are pack animals,” Alan told her, “with a very strong sense of hierarchy. ‘Lovie' responded to a signal of superiority.”

“I'd hate to see a pack of creatures like that,” commented Hannah, who had taken out her perpetual knitting.

“A dreadful prospect,” Lord Alan agreed.

“My mother purchased a lapdog once,” Ariel remembered.

“You surprise me.”

She acknowledged the unlikeliness of it with a look. “She thought she might like having it about, but of course she didn't. It was a disgusting little creature. Bess was bored in a week, and Puff was left to the servants to care for.”