The Mistress of Hanover Square (22 page)

She was on her way back to her room when she saw Emily walking towards her with a bag in her hand and a cloak over her arm.

‘I wanted to say goodbye,’ she said. ‘This is your cloak, Amelia. You were kind to lend it to me, but after I was kidnapped while wearing it I did not wear it again.’

‘I do not think I shall wear it,’Amelia said. ‘I may give it to one of the maids, for it is warm and comfortable.’ She leaned forwards to kiss Emily’s cheek. ‘I wish you lots of happiness, my love.’

‘I am very happy—but a little nervous. Supposing Beth does not like me…?’

‘How could that be?’ Amelia shook her head. ‘She will come to love you, as I have, dearest. Go on now. Toby has his horses waiting.’

‘Yes, I must not keep him. I shall write often—-and we shall be here for the wedding.’

Amelia nodded and let her go. She took her cloak into the bedroom and threw it over a chair. She glanced uncertainly at the locked dressing-room door. As she did so, she saw the handle move.

‘Amelia…are you in there? Open the door please. I would like to talk to you.’

Amelia hesitated. She wasn’t ready to talk to Gerard yet because she was not sure what to say to him. Picking up the cloak she had discarded, she put it around her shoulders and went out of her room. She ran down the stairs and left the house by a side door. The rain had stopped and the wind had blown itself out, though the sky was dark and it was very cold.

She did not mind the cold. She wanted some fresh air—and she needed to be alone for a while.

D
amn it! How could she think him capable of seducing a young woman and deserting her—and at the same time as he was courting Amelia herself?

Gerard was so angry when he left the room that he was afraid he might do or say something he ought not if he remained. When he saw Toby and Emily come in, he had felt there was no other option than to leave, because he could not speak as he wished with them present. Amelia was clearly in a state of shock and distress. He could only hope that she would come to her senses after a moment or two of reflection.

He was in his own bedchamber when he thought he heard sounds coming from Amelia’s room. He went through the dressing closet and tried the handle of the connecting door, calling out to her. She did not answer, yet he was certain she was there. Why would she not speak to him?

It was an impossible situation! How could she believe those vile allegations? She could not if she loved him.

Gerard vaguely remembered the scene in the woods near Amelia’s home some years previously. He had been on his way to visit Amelia when he met a young woman. She had been visiting her friend, for she told him that she had just come from the Roystons’ house. She was carrying her bonnet by its ribbons, her long fair hair loose on her shoulders. The sunshine suited her—her skin had turned a pale gold and she wore no pelisse, her muslin gown clinging to her shapely form.

‘I have been visiting Amelia,’ she told him, laughing up at him with her soft ripe lips and her blue eyes filled with mischief. ‘It is so warm today. I think I shall go for a swim in the river.’

Gerard struggled to recall his reply. It was something like,
‘It is certainly warm enough. You should take care, Miss Ross. The river is deep and there are reeds that might catch your skirts and drag you down.’
Yes, he remembered saying something of the sort. The scene was becoming clearer now. He had dismissed it as unimportant, but now he thought it imperative that he should remember exactly.

‘I shall not be wearing clothes…’ She licked her lips, an invitation in her eyes. ‘Why do you not come with me? We could swim and…’ Her laughter was husky and seductive. ‘Who knows what else we might find to do, Gerard?’ She moved towards him, the perfume of roses wafting from her skin. ‘I have
always thought you one of the most handsome men I know.’

‘You should not say such things, Lucinda.’ Gerard could not help smiling, for she was a lovely young woman. He was in love with Amelia, but a light dalliance was no sin on a summer afternoon. ‘Some men might take you at your word.’

Had his manner challenged her—encouraged her? He had not meant it to, but perhaps he had been at fault for her reply had been swift and bold.

‘I should like you to take me at my word…’ Lucinda threw herself at him, winding her arms about his neck and pressing herself against his body. He put up his hands to hold her arms and push her away, but she pressed her lips against his in a wild, passionate kiss that shocked him and for just one moment he had responded. He was, after all, a young man with red blood in his veins. ‘Take me swimming…lie with me this afternoon…make love to me, Gerard.’

‘No!’Gerard had pushed her away as the moment passed and he realised what she was asking. He did not want her. He was in love with Amelia Royston. This wanton girl was beautiful and he had been tempted by her kiss, but now her boldness revolted him. ‘Behave yourself! Think of the disgrace to your family if you were seen swimming naked.’

Lucinda laughed mockingly. ‘I do not know why Marguerite thinks herself in love with you. You are such a righteous bore, Gerard Ravenshead. I do not want you. I already have a lover and he does not
scruple to take me swimming and then lie with me on a summer afternoon.’

She had laughed again and then run off through the woods. Gerard had laughed too, because he thought it the foolish boasting of a young woman who felt herself scorned. He had forgotten it until he heard about the scandal and the shocking tragedy of her death.

He had never spoken to anyone of that afternoon. He had never realised that they had been seen in what must have looked like a passionate embrace. He had certainly never thought it the true reason for the beating he had been given by Sir Michael Royston’s bully-boys.

‘I do not know why Marguerite thinks herself in love with you.’

Gerard frowned. He had known there was something he ought to remember from the first moment Miss Ross arrived at Pendleton.

He had not even considered Lucinda’s words serious at the time. Remembering now, he thought there had been something a little spiteful in the way Lucinda had spoken of her sister. Why should Mar-guerite Ross have thought herself in love with him? He hardly knew her. They had danced once or twice—three times at most. He had sat next to her one evening at dinner and made polite conversation, but he had hardly noticed her. He had already been in love with Amelia.

His mind turned back to the scene earlier when Marguerite had thrown those vile accusations at him. He had been looking at Amelia, willing her to trust
him, to love him as he loved her—but he had seen the doubts in her eyes.

Marguerite’s accusations, the way she looked at him, had seemed angry…almost bitter. Why did she hate him? It seemed clear that she must—for why else would she meet Lieutenant Gordon and plot with him? He was certain now that the two had worked together. Gordon must have had his information from Marguerite. Amelia’s innocent letters had told her all she needed to know.

Amelia had begun to suspect it even before Marguerite’s outburst. She had thought the woman under Gordon’s influence but…supposing
she
were the instigator of the plot to abduct Amelia and kill her? It made perfect sense. Gordon might hate him because of Lisette’s death, but he had not looked for revenge at the start. Some thing—or some one—had made him decide that he would punish Gerard through Amelia. If that someone were Marguerite, it explained why she had suddenly arrived at Pendleton.

Gerard felt cold. They had harboured a viper in their midst! His first thought was for Lisa, because she was an innocent, unsuspecting child. Receiving no answer from Amelia’s room, he went immediately to the nursery, where he found the same peaceful scene that Amelia had found earlier. His relief was soon overcome with anger.

Damn it! He would not put up with this nonsense. Gerard returned to the master suite and opened the door to Amelia’s room from the hall. A brief search told him that she was not there. He left and walked
towards the stairs. Down in the hall, he asked the footman on duty if he had seen Miss Royston recently.

‘She went out a few minutes ago, my lord. Perhaps a quarter of an hour. I watched her for a moment, because she seemed unlike herself—a little distracted, if you will forgive my saying so. I think she walked towards the lake.’

‘Thank you.’

Gerard frowned. He was not dressed for walking. It would take but a moment to fetch his greatcoat. He would follow her and hope that they could settle this nonsense!

The cold air stung her cheeks and eyes, but Amelia pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, determined not to be put off her walk. She knew it was foolish of her to run away from Gerard, because they would have to talk sooner or later. However, she was feeling too raw to face him just yet. Had the accusation come from just one person she might have dismissed it—but both her brother and Marguerite had blamed Gerard for Lucinda’s downfall and her death. Until the previous night she had been unsure of his feelings for her, but after their lovemaking she had felt secure in his love. Now all those niggling doubts had come flooding back.

If Gerard loved her, why had he married so soon after they parted? Why hadn’t he come to her and told her what her brother had done? Amelia’s thoughts went round and round as she battled her tears.

Was it possible that Gerard had seduced her friend
while at the same time swearing eternal love for Amelia? Could he truly be so ruthless…so cold and uncaring? Could he make love to her so tenderly if he were the man her brother and Marguerite claimed?

No, of course not! Now that she could think clearly, Amelia began to see how wrong it was. Gerard loved her. It was true that he had married another woman, and Lisette had taken her own life—perhaps because Gerard had told her that he could not love her. She had exonerated him freely of blame for that—could she not show as much faith again? She must if she trusted her own senses, her own heart—because she loved him.

She still loved him! Despite all the doubts and accusations thrown at him, she loved him. She would always love him. Without Gerard her life would be empty, a sterile pointless existence that would lead to bitter old age.

Amelia frowned. If she accepted that her brother had been mistaken in what he had seen, she must believe Gerard. He had told her that Lucinda was wanton…that
she
had kissed him. It was this that she had found so hard to accept. A light, flirtatious kiss in a moment of fun—yes, that she could accept—but Lucinda a wanton?

Was it possible that she had never really known her? They had been friends, but had Lucinda kept secrets from her? The answer must be that she had, because she had never told Amelia that she had a lover. Only when she discovered that she was with child and confessed to her parents that her lover
would not marry her, had she told anyone of her shame.

Amelia wished that she knew the truth. She had always felt sad about Lucinda’s suicide…but Marguerite had hinted that Gerard had killed her because she threatened to name him.

No, he would never do something like that! Amelia could not accept that he was a murderer. Everything that was in her protested his innocence. If he was in nocent of her death, it followed that Lucinda had either taken her own life in a moment of despair—or someone else had killed her. So if Amelia believed Gerard was in nocent of murder, she ought to believe him innocent of seduction and desertion.

She did believe him! Amelia felt the doubts fall away, a weight lifting from her shoulders as her mind cleared. Gerard would not lie to her! How could he after what they had been to one another? She had hurt and angered him because she had not instantly accepted his word. She ought to have known at once, of course, but the accusations had shocked her so deeply that she hardly knew what she was saying. She had had to deal with Emily and Toby, forcing herself to behave naturally, and it was only now that she had been able to see things clearly.

Why had Marguerite come to the house if she believed that Gerard had seduced and murdered her sister?

There could be only one answer. She was in league with Lieutenant Gordon. He craved revenge
for Lisette’s death and Marguerite wanted revenge for her sister’s shame.

Why did she believe that Lucinda had been forced into the river? Amelia had always thought that she must have flung herself from the bridge because she could not face her shame…why did Marguerite think otherwise?

It was puzzling for until now she had never heard anyone speak of such a possibility. Even Mrs Ross had spoken of her daughter’s suicide.

‘I was angry with her for her foolish behaviour but I would have taken care of her. She had no need to take her own life,’
the grieving mother declared.
‘Her papa was angry, but I loved her.’

Amelia recalled the mother’s tears. She frowned as she tried to picture the scene that afternoon. She had gone to the Rosses’ house to visit and pay her condolences. Mrs Ross had received her alone and then…Marguerite had come in. Amelia had glanced at her face and…she had been so angry…

Angry.
Marguerite had not looked as if she were grieving. Her eyes were not ringed with red, as her mother’s were—she was angry.

‘Marguerite…’ Amelia unconsciously spoke the words aloud. ‘She was jealous of her sister—and angry…’ Why was she so angry? Amelia could not quite grasp the last pieces of the puzzle.

She had reached the lake. She stood for a moment, staring down the steep bank at the dark grey water, which reflected the clouds above. On a summer day it would be pleasant here, but today there was a
feeling of isolation as a light mist began to curl across the water. Amelia sighed, feeling lonely, uneasy. Then, as she heard a twig snap beneath some one’s foot, she turned and looked into Mar-guerite’s face. She was as angry now as she had been on the day Amelia visited her home.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked her. ‘I thought you had left?’

‘I met some one and we decided we would wait for a while.’ Marguerite’s eyes flicked past Amelia to someone who had approached from the right. ‘It seems we were lucky, Nanny. You said that she would walk out alone if she was upset—and you were right.’

Amelia looked round and saw Alice Horton. She was dressed in a black cloak, the hood covering her head and most of her face—but her eyes were cold, filled with malice.

A sliver of fear ran down Amelia’s spine. She was completely alone here, for few were out on a day like this. Even the labourers would hurry home to eat their dinner in a warm kitchen.

‘This is private land. You have no right here. The earl dismissed you.’

‘Because you told him to,’ Alice Horton said bitterly. ‘You stole my girl’s admirer and then wrote pitying letters to her…asking her to be a governess. She is a lady…better than you…’

‘What are you talking about? I have stolen no one’s lover.’ Amelia stared at Marguerite, trying to make some sense of the accusation. ‘Is she speaking about you? I did not mean to patronise you by
offering you a place in my household—only to help you find happiness.’

‘He liked me before you made eyes at him…’ Marguerite’s eyes glittered with hatred. ‘Lucinda knew how I felt. She laughed at me when she told me he was courting you…but then she stopped laughing.’

Amelia felt icy cold as she looked into the other woman’s face. Anger and hatred—and something more…something dangerous.

‘What happened to Lucinda? Why do you think she did not commit suicide?’

Marguerite’s lips curved in a sneer. ‘She could swim like a fish. Lucinda used to swim in the river all the time. She learned when she was five years old. She was always laughing at me because I dare not follow her into the deep water. She had no fear of anything.’