Unconquered (26 page)

“And Gillian Abbott?”

“She will be transported.”

Miranda whitened. “What will you tell her husband?”

“Old Lord Abbott is dead. He passed away earlier this evening, shortly after his wife left him. After the funeral we will arrest her quietly. Her disappearance from society will be attributed to mourning. She’ll soon enough be forgotten. Her own family is dead and she has no children. Frankly, m’dear, the gentlemen who’ve been her lovers will not be sorry to see her go, and the ladies certainly won’t miss her. We will be discreet. No need to embarrass either the new Lord Abbott or the memory of the old Lord Abbott.”

“But to be transported!”

“It is either that or hanging, m’dear.”

“I should far rather be hanged. And so, I imagine, would Lady Abbott.

“Hanging would make the matter public,” replied Lord Palmerston,
shaking his head, “and we don’t want to do that. No, Lady Abbott will be transported for life—not to a penal colony but to the new Australia territories, where she’ll be sold as a bondwoman for seven years. After that, she’s on her own, but she’ll not be able to leave Australia.”

“The poor woman,” said Miranda.

“Don’t feel sorry for her, m’dear. She really doesn’t deserve it. Gillian Abbott betrayed her country for money.”

“But she will be virtually a slave for seven years.” Miranda shuddered. “I do not approve of slavery.”

“Neither do I,” replied Lord Palmerston. “But in Lady Abbott’s case it is our only solution.”

Miranda’s fears for Lady Abbott proved unnecessary. Gillian learned of her impending arrest and fled England. It could only be assumed that one of her lovers had learned of the sentence to be imposed upon her, and felt sorry enough for her to warn her. The King’s officers had followed the black-clad Lady Abbott after the funeral, so as to arrest her quietly in her home. But beneath the mourning veils they found a young London actress, not Gillian Abbott. Horrified by the realization that she was involved in a crime, Miss Millicent Marlowe burst into tears, and told all.

She was a bit player with Mr. Kean’s company, and had been hired two days before by a gentleman she’d never seen before. As the poor, frightened girl was obviously telling the truth, she was released and sent on her way. Lady Abbott’s maid, Peters, was sent for, but she could not be found. A search revealed that Peters had also fled. The new Lord Abbott wanted an end to the situation. Afraid of a scandal, he gave out that the new dowager had returned to her dower house in Northumberland for a year’s mourning.

Jared and Miranda Dunham closed the house on Devon Square and departed for Swynford Hall, outside the town of Worcester.

The trip took several days. They traveled quite comfortably in a large coach made especially for long journeys. There were two extra horses who trotted along with the grooms when Jared and Miranda were not riding them. Roger Bramwell had arranged the stopovers at pleasant, well-run inns. It was a lovely trip, and Miranda enjoyed being with her husband for those few days in
the English countryside. She enjoyed it all the more, knowing that they would soon leave England for Russia.

The countryside was lush with midsummer growth, a perfect frame for Swynford Hall, an E-shaped mansion that dated from early Elizabethan times. The bricks were a mellowed rose color, but most of the house was covered in shiny, dark green ivy. The carriage rumbled through gates of brick and iron as the smiling gatekeeper stood by. His plump wife bobbed a friendly curtsey from the gatehouse door as the carriage passed. The driveway was lined by rows of tall oaks, and there was an attractive dower house beyond the drive. Miranda chuckled.

“The dowager Lady Swynford is in residence, I see. I didn’t think Mandy could do it.”

“I did,” replied Jared. “She’s as stubborn as you are, my love, but her angelic appearance deceives everyone into believing she is a biddable female.”

“Why, sir, am I not the most agreeable of females?”

“Oh very agreeable,” he said smoothly, finishing, “when you get your own way!”

“Wretch!” she teased. “You are no better than I!”

“Exactly, m’lady, which is why we suit each other so damnably well!”

They were both still laughing when the carriage stopped in front of the entry to Swynford Hall, where host and hostess were waiting. The two sisters hugged each other warmly, and then Miranda stepped back to view her radiant twin. “You seem to be surviving marriage,” she smiled.

“I have simply followed your good example,” Amanda teased back.

It was the beginning of a wonderful week. They were housed in a beautiful corner apartment that overlooked the gentle hills of Wales to the west and the estate’s lake and gardens to the south. Amanda and Adrian were still honeymooning, and were the least demanding of hosts. The two couples met only in the evening for dinner. There were no other guests, and only on their first evening at Swynford Hall did Adrian’s mama join them. She left the following day to visit her dear old friend, Lady Tallboys, in Brighton. The simple country life was far too dull and confining for her, she declared.

At the end of a delightful week of riding and long walks in the
woods, Miranda entered their apartment to find Mitchum packing her husband’s clothing. Startled, she asked what was going on.

“M’lord has said we must depart for Russia tonight, m’lady,” answered the tall, austere valet.

“Has Perky been informed? Why is she not packing my things?”

“I was not aware that you were coming with us, m’lady,” replied Mitchum, suddenly uncomfortable.

Miranda ran from the room and downstairs to the garden salon, where the others awaited her. Bursting into the room, she shouted at Jared, “When were you going to tell me? Or were you just going to leave me a note? I thought we were going together!”

“I must travel quickly, and it would be impossible for a woman.”

“Why?”

“Listen to me, wildcat. Napoleon is about to attack Russia. He believes that England and America are so involved with each other that they will not be able to aid the Tzar. I must get to St. Petersburg to get Alexander’s signature on a secret treaty of alliance between America, England, and Russia. We must break Napoleon!”

“But why may I not go?” she demanded.

“Because I must get there and be back before the Russian winter sets in, Miranda. Summer is half gone already and winter comes to the far north long before it comes to the rest of Europe and England.
Dream Witch
is anchored just off the coast. Mitchum and I ride out tonight. We can’t wait for a carriage and a lady’s maid.”

“I’ll ride with you! I don’t need Perky.”

“No, Miranda. You’ve never spent more than two or three hours in the saddle, and it will be a bone-shattering ride to the sea. You’re to stay here with your sister and Adrian until I return. If anyone decides to visit Swynford you can say I’m ill and keeping to my room. I
need
you here, wildcat. If we both disappear for several weeks it could cause talk.

“Oh, my love, I want to go home to Wyndsong! I want to raise our horses, and send my ships to the far corners of the earth in safety. I want to found a dynasty built on the love we have for
each other. We can do none of these things while the damned world is upside down!”

“I hate you for this!” she said fiercely. After a moment, she asked, “How long?”

“I should be back by the end of October.”

“
Should be?
”

“I
will
be!”

“You had better be, m’lord, or I shall come looking for you!”

“You would too, wouldn’t you, wildcat?” He reached out and pulled her roughly against him. She looked up into his face, her sea-green eyes devouring his visage. “I will come home quickly, my love,” he said huskily and kissed her hungrily.

Watching them from a corner of the room, Lady Amanda Swynford reflected again that she far preferred the gentle love she had for her Adrian to this savage passion. Her sister and Jared were so intense, and when they became involved in each other the world about them ceased to exist. The blazing love that raged between her twin and Jared was somehow so … so primitive!

Reading her thoughts, Lord Swynford approached quietly and put a reassuring arm around his bride. “It is just that they are so very American and you and I are so very English.”

“Yes … I suppose that’s what it is,” answered Amanda slowly. “How strange that Miranda and I should be so different.”

“Yet so alike, for you are, you know. You both possess a strong sense of right and wrong, and a fierce loyalty to those you love.”

“Yes, we do,” replied Amanda, “and if I know my sister, she will be quite impossible once her husband has gone. You and I are going to have our hands full, Adrian. This is not exactly what I had in mind for my honeymoon summer.”

“No,” mused Adrian, “I don’t believe we will have any problem with Miranda.”

For several days after Jared’s departure, it appeared that he was right. Miranda kept to herself. Amanda had expected the Miranda of old, storming and raging. But her twin was quiet and thoughtful. Her emotions were kept private, and no one knew she wept wild tears into her pillow in the darkness of night.

August passed, and September. Stranded at the Russian
court, Lord Jared Dunham, the Anglo-American envoy, had yet to see Tzar Alexander. Napoleon had declared war on Russia, and was marching on Moscow. The Tzar had not decided whether to side openly with Bonaparte’s avowed enemies. Too, he thought it odd that the English and Americans, officially at war with each other, should ask him to sign an alliance with them against the French. He decided to postpone making a decision. But he did not bother to inform Lord Dunham of that. So Jared waited, and worried that he might fail his mission. He fretted over his absence from England.

A message arrived from Lord Palmerston. The Americans and the English who sought to end the conflict between their countries had decided that Jared must remain in St. Petersburg until the Tzar made his decision to join the Anglo-American alliance against Bonaparte. Realizing, however, that his prolonged absence from London’s social scene would cause comment, his brother, Jonathan, was being smuggled through the British blockade of the American coast and brought to England to take Jared’s place. The difference in their appearance was so slight that no one was expected to notice.

Jared smiled ruefully and restlessly paced the small guest house, belonging to a great palace, that had been rented for him. It overlooked the Neva River, which cut through the heart of fashionable St. Petersburg, and was lined on both sides with the opulent homes of the very rich and powerful. The house, a small jewel of a building, had been set in a corner of the garden, and had a fine view of the river. There were only two servants, a cook and a maid. Both old women, their heavily accented French was barely understandable but Jared needed no one besides his own Mitchum. He was not here to socialize. He would not be entertaining.

Jared Dunham suddenly felt very alone, cut off entirely from his world. He wondered if he was not paying too high a price for his ideals. What the hell was he doing in Russia? Away from Miranda, away from Wyndsong. Napoleon was already in Moscow, a wide swath of burnt Russian fields marking his passage through the land, for the fiercely patriotic peasant Russians had fired their own fields rather than allow them to fall into French hands. It would mean famine for them this winter. Jared Dunham sighed, seeing the thin skim of ice on the Neva River
glistening in the early-morning sunshine. It would be autumn in England, but here in St. Petersburg early winter was upon them. He shivered. He longed for his wife.

In the early dawn Miranda stood by her bed and looked at the man sleeping there. That it was not her husband she was absolutely positive. She was fairly certain it was her brother-in-law, Jonathan Dunham. Why was he in England? Why was he posing as Jared? A sudden shift in his breathing pattern told her that he was awake.

“Good morning, Jon,” she said calmly.

“How did you know?” he replied, not even bothering to open his gray-green eyes.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she laughed softly. “Jared has never been
that
tired,” she said. “Especially after being away from me. You’ve cut your hair.”

“The better to look like Jared Dunham, m’dear.”

“Were you planning to tell me, Jon? Or did the clever Lord Palmerston decide I shouldn’t know.”

“I was to tell you only if you recognized me.”

“And if I hadn’t?”

“Then I was to say nothing,” he replied quietly.

“Just how far were you planning to go, sir?” she demanded and because he knew her so little he didn’t recognize the dangerous edge in her voice.

“Frankly I hoped to find you with child,” he said. “It would have solved everything.”

“Indeed!” she snapped. “Where is Jared?”

“In St. Petersburg, stuck for the winter. The Tzar cannot make up his mind whether to sign the alliance or not. Jared’s mission must remain a secret because it hasn’t the official sanction of either government. But he is too well known to simply disappear from England and everyone assumes that until this damned war is over the Dunhams cannot leave England and return to Wyndsong. In other words, someone has to be Jared.”

“And what of your wife? Does she approve of this masquerade?” Miranda’s voice was sharp.

There was a deep silence, and then Jonathan said, “Charity is dead.”

“What?!” Her voice was raw with shock.

“My wife was drowned in a boating accident this summer. She was raised on Cape Cod, and adored the sea. It was an eccentricity of hers that she loved to sail her own small boat. She was a good sailor, but she was caught in a sudden violent squall. The boat was destroyed, and Charity’s body was washed up on a nearby beach several days later.” His voice was harsh.

“It is assumed that I have gone off whaling to ease my sorrow.”

“Your children?”

“With my parents.”

“Oh, Jon, I am so sorry!” said Miranda, the memory of her friendly sister-in-law filling her mind.

He reached out and took her hand. “The first shock is over, Miranda. I have faced the fact that Charity is gone. I am not sure yet if I can survive without her, but I suppose I must. The children need me.” He smiled wryly. “If I could have taken Jared’s place in St. Petersburg I would have done so, but I have always been the dutiful son who stayed home while my little brother was the adventurer. I have no experience in diplomacy. The best I can do is hope to fool the ton until my brother returns. You will have to help me.”