The Bellerose Bargain (17 page)

He needn’t be alone, Alicia thought. If he would but make me his helper rather than—

Alicia had come to the conclusion just after the wedding that they need not make this a temporary arrangement just for the dowry. She had already fooled the court and been accepted as well as Charlotte Bellamy ever would have been. There was no need for her disappearance or simulated death. If Geoffrey felt anything for her at all, and there were times she believed he did feel something, they could go on with their play forever. All she needed was to be told that it was she and not the ghost of Charlotte and a fortune that he wanted.

"Tell me about your sister, Preston," she said. "What happened to her?"

He took her elbow and, kicking away the spaniels, led her to the marble bench where they could sit and talk.

"My family fled England just after the king was murdered. My mother, father, and five brothers. Mother pleaded for the baby, Letty. She feared taking her abroad to parts unknown. The rumors were wild then; stories of fleeing nobles being murdered on the road and worse. Mother’s sister could take Letty until the worst was over, and we could send for her or return for her.

"But Letty never arrived." He shrugged. "A letter followed us for almost a year before we knew that the youngest and safest of us all had not made the journey."

"And since? No word?"

"The driver of the coach that took her away and the maid who tended her were married and had no children. It was always our hope that they’d claimed her and settled someplace in the country. In that case they could eventually be found. But never did my father or any of his men find any couple with a child that could be my sister. There has been no trace until now."

Alicia sat on the edge of the bench with her elbows on her knees, listening intently to every word. Her own background being so hazy, the strong sense of family that Preston exhibited was wonderful to her. That he would be moved to pursue the fate of his sister filled her with envy; she had searched for a sense of belonging, a sense of family for a long time. "And now, Preston? What trace now?"

"There a village of not more than a hundred people in the south that has an old coach they’ve used for fifteen years. It was a rich coach when it was first found, and the smith repaired it a hundred times over the years so it could be used. It has a family crest on the door that’s marred, but possibly recognizable. If it’s a Tilden coach I’ll know it. And if it is the coach, Letty must have been found nearby. I’ll at least know where she is buried."

"I imagine if you can find that much, there should be an entire story to go along with it. Oh Preston, I do hope it’s good news."

"I think that’s a little too much to hope for. I’ll be content simply to know what happened to her."

Alicia felt a lift in her heart, a kinship of souls with Preston. He portrayed for her the type of family she would choose for herself, if that were possible. She felt her eyes grow moist with the emotion. "That you would even search for her past, Preston, is so noble, so..."

Preston laughed at her and touched her nose, a gesture that made her smile in spite of her deep feeling. "Of course, you would understand: your mother was lost to you early and your father left you soon after. Not many understand as you and I do, since our families have both been separated and spread apart.

"And that is the thing I consider now; that we have no evidence concerning what became of my sister. I think the matter cannot be put to rest in any of our minds until every effort is made to uncover her story."

"Even though she had a very short life, I find I envy her, Preston," Alicia said with a sigh.

Preston delighted in her. "You’re the perfect audience, Charlotte. But let’s remember,
cherie,
it’s very likely the best that can be done is to be pointed to an unmarked grave. I don’t know how an infant would survive..."

Her eyes began to water slightly. "You shall find her, Preston. I just know it! And please, hurry to tell me. Please."

Preston rose from the bench and looked at Alicia with open adoration, he was so moved by her sensitivity. "Thank you for your encouragement,
cherie.
I will send word. And I won’t be away long."

Preston started toward the house with Alicia close behind him, chattering all the way. "And if she isn’t married, Preston, what do you suppose? What if she’s turned awful and mean? What’ll you do if she’s fat and ugly?"

Laughter rippled through the house as they walked toward the front door where Preston would take his leave. "If she’s horrible, fat, and wretched, she’ll be a damned good sight if she’s alive. If she’s a murderess, I’m prepared to buy her freedom, and if she’s indentured, I’ll break her bonds."

"You’ll be her knight," Alicia laughed excitedly. "You’ll find her and take her from all her miseries of the years and deliver her to her rich parents and..." Again she laughed, her heart glad and her imagination wild.

Preston paused before the front door and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Sweet lady, you are the only person I’ve known, including my own family, to see any hope in the situation."

"Of course, I am, Preston, but look: nothing wonderful should’ve happened to me, but I am here, wearing gowns—the king’s own ward for a time." She shrugged. "Why wouldn’t I imagine the very best? Hurry and go so you can tell me what you find."

He started to leave and then turned to her again. "Lucky you caught your lord, darling. If my sister had not been lost, you can be sure I’d have seen her married to Geoffrey. Thank the stars it’s too late for him to speak for Alicia."

First a puzzled look and then an overall sensation of pure shock settled over her. She leaned unsteadily against the doorjamb, but Preston did not notice, for he had tipped his feathered hat and turned to go.

"Preston? Lord Tilden?" she called weakly. He turned to look at her. "Alicia?" she questioned.

"Aye, though she was Letty to the family." He shrugged and smiled, still exuberant because of Alicia’s excitement. "Do you think she’ll want to throw off that pet name?"

Alicia shook her head dumbly. "I think Alicia is a beautiful name," she whispered. "Go with God."

He raised a hand to her and walked briskly down the street. As his broad shoulders disappeared from her sight, a tear glistened on her lashes and her trembling lips whispered another farewell. "Go safely—my brother."

For endless days and longer nights Alicia’s mind was totally consumed with the probability that she and Preston were related by blood, that she was the sister he sought. The only tokens of her childhood, her links to him, were the similarity in the way his sister had disappeared and the small toddler’s gown that she was found wearing when the Thatchers took her in. She still possessed the gown, though it was nothing more than a tattered rag now. And it bore no evidence of being something of the Tilden family; there was no crest or initial anywhere on the garment.

The dream that had once comforted her now plagued her. She strained to make every detail more clear and was convinced that Preston was the older brother who had tended her, scolded her, and loved her. And the fair-haired woman who cried: she must certainly have been her mother. The red cloak—why had she not worn the red cloak? And what time of year was it? She remembered cold and rain, but she wasn’t sure whether the memory was of traveling or of another time and place. But the name was hers. And it was not a common name. Her looks were not unique; many English girls had brown hair and blue eyes. She had no marks on her body that would have been there since birth.

"But I am his Letty," she told herself. "There is no doubt."

Where the doubt loomed large was in what to do about it. She troubled for only a short time on whether to tell Geoffrey. There was no point, since he rarely took the time to talk to her about anything at all and clearly was not interested in Preston’s business in England. His biggest concern seemed to be in quickly spending Charlotte Bellamy’s dowry.

She thought of confronting Preston with the possibility, but the thought of being shown to be an impostor was terrifying. Preston might well be prepared to pay Alicia’s bondage, free her of debts, and help clear her name, but was he ready to face the king with her treason?

Her fear became more real when she went with Margaret to the Exchange. It was an outing she had not allowed herself often, for she was still a bit at odds as to how she was supposed to act in public. On this trip abroad she had it in her mind to buy linen and thread to try her hand at needlework: something Margaret wanted to teach her. "All the high-bred noblewomen do it," Margaret had said. And it was perfect for lying deep in thought without drawing too much attention to yourself, Alicia thought.

And so the things were purchased, and Alicia was lingering over a display of lace and ribbons when she heard her name called. "My lady Seavers, dear heaven. How marvelous you’re looking; how grand."

As she turned she was amazed to see Lady Castlemaine, complete with her own entourage of courtiers and servants, and with her vizard held up over her eyes. Barbara was done in the face patches that were so popular, and her belly swelled with child, for she was preparing to deliver her fifth. Alicia stood shocked for a moment, for the attention took her by surprise.

"You must come to supper, my lady. Why, you’re all the talk of Whitehall since you’re seen about so little these days."

Alicia smiled then and curtsied before her ladyship. She had heard that Barbara’s popularity was slipping and that the suppers Frances Stewart gave were packed with all the important people. With some pride, Alicia thought Barbara wanted to draw people with Alicia’s presence.

"I’d be honored, madam," she replied demurely, wondering how she would dare find an excuse for not going. She was not sure whether she liked or hated Barbara Palmer, but she surely feared her. Being her protegee in a manner was fun, but being her enemy must be terrifying.

"Then I’ll call on you soon, madam, and we’ll arrange it. I’ve been so aflutter with invitations myself that it takes some doing to plan a party. But I will manage something very soon."

Barbara’s departure was carried out with as much aplomb as her arrival, her servants and admirers trailing along behind, giggling maids and mincing fops all in a line at her back.

Alicia turned back to the lace and ribbons, not quite seeing them, a light glow creeping to her cheeks. She was somewhat embarrassed by the fuss and took just a moment to focus on what had interested her earlier. She shook off the slight daze and was about to turn to Margaret with a request to go on home, when she met with angry eyes. She found herself face to face with a lass of about her own age, though she was a good deal larger. The eyes bore down on her and the copper curls seemed to tremble.

Alicia’s mouth stood slightly open in wonder.

"So ye’r the one," the girl growled. "Ye’r the one what calls herself ‘Lady Seavers.’"

"Margaret?" Alicia said, looking around.

"I don’t know who you are," the girl spat, "but I know who you ain’t! You ain’t Charlotte Bellamy, that’s sure." With that the young woman snatched at the purse hanging on Alicia’s wrist, and the cord bound and tore at her gloved hand as the purse was pulled off. Alicia gave a cry and a shriek, and Margaret dropped what she was holding to join the fight, but the girl grabbed the article and ran through the crowd of people, quickly disappearing from sight.

"Stop the thief!" Margaret screamed, half chasing the woman. "Stop her, she’s taken milady’s purse! Catch her, the fat one!"

It was then that Alicia realized who that had been. From the king’s own words, "I thought your hair might be red. And that you were well fed." Alicia prayed they would not catch her.

"Margaret, please, let’s just go..."

By that time a crowd had gathered, and Rodney, their driver and escort, having heard the screaming and seen the commotion, had pressed his way through the people and taken Alicia by the arm.

"Please, Rodney, take me home," she pleaded weakly. No further request was necessary. He pulled her out of the crowd, while Margaret gathered their packages and followed.

Alicia said not a word. The complexity of her mixed identities grew beyond any sense in her mind, and silence was her only friend.

Geoffrey Seavers walked briskly into the house on Tiller Street, taking off his hat when he entered. He looked about and noticed that it was well kept and orderly. There seemed no one about, so he stood admiring the sitting room for a time. The house was comfortable and clean and had a nice smell. Even though he had his own chamber here, he chose not to use it. Being in this house reminded him all too often that he had lied and cheated the crown, and had a great many knots to untangle.

"Afternoon, milord," came a voice. "Nice t’see you about."

He smiled at Margaret as she passed him and went in the direction of the stairs.

"Is her ladyship in?" he asked.

"Aye, sir. In her rooms."

"Ask her if I may come up."

"Aye, milord," Margaret said, continuing away from him.

Within moments she returned to send him to Alicia. As he entered the chamber, he found her sitting behind a frame, her forehead furrowed into a few troubled lines and her fingers playing havoc on a piece of linen.

"Come in, my lord," she beckoned him. "I’ll be glad to put this damned thing aside."