The Rules of Seduction (6 page)

The door opened and the women disappeared.

Hayden glanced over to see Christian observing him.

Christian turned to go.

“Vigilance, Hayden. Vigilance.”

CHAPTER
FOUR

A
lexia strolled beside Roselyn in a funereal march. They made a silent procession from room to room while Rose made sure nothing had been forgotten.

A hired carriage waited in the street. It would take the Longworths only as far as a coaching inn right outside London. There they would transfer to the sad wagon that had left under cover of darkness before dawn, hauling the meager property that they still owned.

Rose peered around the drawing room. “I daresay Rothwell’s aunt will find everything in order. I hope she and her daughter are happy here.”

The sentiment would have sounded generous if not for the bitter tone.

Alexia did not offer any comforting words. She had already poured out every reassurance she could muster. She had even promised Irene to do her best to give her a season next year, which was as close to bold-faced lying as she had ever come. Her heart was breaking for all of them. Rose and Irene, Timothy, and herself.

Rose turned on her. Eyes glistening, she allowed her anger to show. “You must promise not to love them. I do not care how good they are. You must promise not—”

Alexia embraced her. Rose’s body shook as she broke down and wept. It passed quickly. Rose swallowed her tears and found her composure, all with one long inhale.

“Oxfordshire is not far away,” Alexia said. That had been repeated by all of them so many times the last week. “We will see each other often, I am sure.”

She was not really sure, but perhaps it was possible. She had use of a carriage, didn’t she? She had a free day.

“Let us go above and collect Timothy,” Roselyn said.

They found Tim in his chamber, sprawled on his bed, ill. No, not ill, Alexia realized. She spied a chipped decanter beneath his washstand.

“The carriage waits, Timothy,” Rose said.

“To hell with the carriage.” Tim did not even move the arm draped over his forehead. “To hell with the bastards waiting to see it too. To hell with life.”

Rose looked stricken. She had effected most of the plans the last few days. Once he had sold what could be sold, Timothy had become worthless.

Alexia went over to the bed. “You have indulged your unhappiness too long, cousin. Your sisters need you to find yourself now. Allow them to walk out the door with dignity, not carrying their broken brother between them.”

He neither responded nor moved. She touched his arm. “Come, Tim. This was not of your making. Stand tall for Irene’s sake at least.”

After a long pause, he pushed himself up. Rose smoothed his coat and did her best to make his cravat presentable. Timothy looked so sad and helpless that Alexia wanted to weep.

“Did you get his things from the attic, Rose?” He spoke in a muttered slur. “Ben’s trunks and such?”

Rose’s face fell. “We were so rushed…How could I have been so remiss? There is no room now on the carriage and—”

“I will take care of whatever you left behind,” Alexia said. “I will be sure the trunks remain here while I do and take them with me when I leave. Eventually I will find a way to return everything to you.”

“You are so good, Alexia,” Rose said with visible relief.

Alexia did not mind taking responsibility for Ben’s property. Part of him would remain with her in this house this way. She might find some fortitude about the life she faced if she remembered those trunks in the attic.

“I hate leaving you here,” Tim said to the floor. “I hate that you will be beholden to him. That is the cruelest turn. That he should be able to see and enjoy your diminishment.”

Alexia did not think Lord Hayden would enjoy seeing it, since he apparently did not think twice about his actions. In a few days she would be the convenient servant and nothing more. He probably would forget her name.

“I do not care what he sees or thinks, Tim. It is of no consequence to me.” That statement at least was a truth. She already knew that if one took a step down, it did not matter why. The blow to one’s pride was the same no matter what the cause. One either handled it with grace or with bitterness. She was struggling to do the former this time, as she had in the past.

Tim proved a little unsteady, but she and Roselyn got him down to the door. Irene waited glumly for their grand exit. No one doubted that the neighbors would watch from their windows to see the final curtain fall on the drama of ruin that had played on Hill Street the last two weeks.

“I hate him,” Irene said. “I don’t care if he is handsome and let me see the ballroom. I am sure his brother would be shocked to learn what has happened. I should have told Easterbrook everything while we were in the gallery.”

Alexia gave Irene a farewell kiss. “Do not waste your heart on hate, Irene.”

“No, do not,” Roselyn said. “I will hate Hayden Rothwell enough for all of us, darling.” Her face tightened into a mask of pride. She took her sister’s hand. “Let us go now.”

Timothy opened the door. He did not appreciate his sisters’ poise as they filed past. He was not really seeing them.

He turned to the open door and stood there slackly for a long count. His face reddened with emotion.

Alexia rested her hand on his arm. “You are the son of a gentleman, Timothy. Not even this can change that.”

His expression found composure and his posture some steel.

“Damn him,” he snarled. He stepped forward and followed Roselyn and Irene into obscurity.

Alexia closed the door before the carriage rolled. She wiped stinging tears from her eyes. She dared not succumb to the impulse to rave at the unfairness of life. She had to ready the house for the arrival of Lord Hayden’s aunt and cousin.

She also needed to prepare her pride for the moment those two women walked through the door.

“It was so good of you to escort us, Hayden, even if it is only a few streets from Easterbrook’s house that we travel. I am quite helpless at arranging such complicated changes.”

“I am glad to help. The situation requires a steady hand at the reins.”

“As always, your command of the ribbons gives me confidence and tranquillity. I do not know how we would manage without you.”

The reins in question were not those on the horses pulling Easterbrook’s coach through Mayfair. Nor were they the ones leashed to the myriad of details that Aunt Henrietta’s move to London created. Hayden had all of that well in hand.

Rather it was Henrietta, widow of Sir Nigel Wallingford, who needed firm guidance. She required more of his attention than his most complicated financial investments.

Upon learning after her husband’s death that her income would be much curtailed, she had nodded with understanding but had not altered her spending one bit. As trustee, Hayden dreaded the ritual of riding down to Surrey to scold her about the bills, scoldings that she always accepted with chagrin but then happily ignored.

He eyed her now as she sat with her daughter across from him in the coach. A gargantuan hat covered most of her very fair hair. Its broad, steeply angled brim kept hitting Caroline’s cheek. The largest red bow in the history of millinery dwarfed the high crown. An extravagant plume swept in a broad arch to brush Hen’s delicate jaw. With Henrietta’s slight figure, small face, and fine features, the hat looked like a weight about to bend her over.

No doubt Hen thought the hat just grand and worth every penny of its cost. She did not see how it aged her. As the much younger sister of his dead mother, Aunt Henrietta, at thirty-six, still possessed a youthful countenance, but in that hat she could have been fifty.

“You are very sure this governess speaks impeccable French?” she asked. “Caroline requires a firm hand there.”

“Miss Welbourne is accomplished in all subjects required of her.” Actually, he did not know for certain Miss Welbourne knew her French. If she claimed to have the education for her new role, however, he did not doubt she would produce it. He suspected she could teach herself French in a fortnight if she still needed to learn it.

“I hope she is not like Mrs. Braxton,” Caroline muttered. A quiet, pale girl, Caroline rarely spoke. Hayden suspected the child he saw was not the real Caroline but one bleached and stifled by the presence of her mother.

“I am sure Miss Welbourne will be very different from your last governess,” Henrietta said. “Hayden had to promise her some unusual concessions to cajole her to aid us.” Her pale green eyes sparkled with a happy optimism that made her look dreamy and distracted all the time. “We are in town now, dear. It is a whole different world here. Mrs. Braxton would never do. That is why Hayden found us this house and the estimable Miss Welbourne.”

She bestowed on Hayden one of
those
smiles. One of the grateful, affectionate ones that said he was the strong anchor to her rudderless ship. She trusted him completely, depended on him too much, and expected his attendance at her whim. She created one disaster after another that she regretfully handed him to fix because he was so damned competent at doing so.

He did not doubt that his aunt dealt with him much as she had her late husband. Her adoring looks, her circular explanations, her attempts to soften him with flattery—they were the hallmarks of a woman handling a man. He was fond of Henrietta and even found her amusing. However, being her trustee for six years had taught him much about the kind of day-to-day dealings with a woman that came with marriage. None of it had encouraged him to seek a wife.

“There it is,” Henrietta announced when the carriage stopped on Hill Street. “I had the coachman drive me past yesterday. It is handsome enough, and of good size, don’t you agree, Caroline? Of course, it is not on a square. I had hoped—well, I daresay if Hayden thinks this will suit us, it undoubtedly will.”

Hayden knew what she had hoped. His brother Christian had known too.

Aunt Hen had neglected the details about moving to London until finding a suitable place to let became difficult. Christian had surmised their aunt had an ulterior motive to her incompetence. He was sure she had counted on being left without a residence, at which time she would petition to launch her daughter out of Easterbrook’s home.

Three weeks ago Christian had summarily decreed that would not, under any circumstance, happen. He would accommodate Caroline’s debut ball but would not live with their flighty and intrusive aunt under his roof.

The Longworth house therefore solved a pressing problem. It had also provided a way for Timothy Longworth to reimburse Henrietta for the stolen securities without her awareness. Aunt Hen assumed Hayden had sold off her funds to purchase the house.

As he stepped out of the carriage, Hayden considered the rest of the plan. With luck, Caroline would be matched up this first go-round, and Henrietta would return to her home in Surrey. The house would be sold and the stolen funds replaced with new ones. If Providence really smiled on him, after Caroline was married, his aunt would look for a husband for herself, and Hayden could soon pass her reins to someone else.

Hayden handed his aunt and cousin down. By the time they entered, all the servants were lined in the reception hall to greet their new mistress.

Henrietta examined her household. Hayden had retained Falkner, but the rest of the staff was new.

He stepped forward when his aunt arrived at Miss Welbourne’s. He introduced the two women, as he had not the butler or housekeeper. It was in his interest for them to get on well. With luck Miss Welbourne would reduce Henrietta’s demands on him.

Aunt Hen gave her new companion a good inspection. Miss Welbourne suffered it with grace.

“This is my daughter, Caroline,” Hen said, drawing her daughter forward. “Our delay in coming to town means her last finishing requires attention. I trust you are fit for it.”

“I am, Lady Wallingford.”

“I hear that you are recently come to such duties. That you are cousin to the family that last lived here.”

Hayden was not aware that Hen had heard that. She had been in town only two days.

Miss Welbourne’s eyes deepened in color, but she displayed no other reaction. “Yes, madam.”

“We will have some conversation about that. I have no reason to question my nephew’s confidence in you, however.”

“Thank you, madam.”

Hen moved on, to the maids and footmen and cook. Hayden watched the ritual from the side of the room. Mostly he watched Miss Welbourne.

Her gaze had not wavered since they entered the house. He realized it was locked on a spot on the wall behind him. Even when Hen spoke with her, those violet eyes had not moved. She was enduring this, but she was not seeing it.

He admired her composure and the slight hauteur she projected. She might stand with servants, but only a fool would miss the difference. No doubt his aunt had sensed it at once. Hence that little challenge.

Miss Welbourne’s gaze subtly moved to him. Anger and pride flexed over her face.
Do not dare pity me,
that quick glance said.
You of all men have no right.

Her resentment of him looked ready to defeat her poise. He walked over and gestured her forward, away from her spot of subservience.