A Daring Deception

by Trentham, Laura

  She barely recognized herself. A hint of the girl she’d once been lurked in the defiant flash of her eyes, but it hurt too much to see her again. She turned her back on her reflection, stripped naked, and proceeded to don her armor.

  Not metal to stop the point of a sword from breaching her heart, but a more subtle protection. On top of her underthings, she tied padding around her waist to disguise her figure and slipped on a baggy, ill-fitting gray frock. She glanced toward the looking glass. A familiar figure emerged.

  She finger combed her hair. It was clean and smelled sweet, and she couldn’t bear to apply the grease she used to keep her stepfather uninterested in her prospects. Instead, she braided it and coiled it under a white mob cap more befitting a dowager than a young lady. Next, she applied a light coat of powder over her face to make her appear pale and sickly and paint to darken the undersides of her eyes.

  Her stomach growled. Her stepfather was in residence, which meant remaining out of his purview whenever possible and acting gauche and uninteresting when she was required to keep him company.

  The only two people she trusted in the house were Abby, a maid of all work who saw to Jessica when necessary, and Mrs. Hamish, the cook. The butler and the housekeeper traveled from the country to London with Goforth, and while they were polite enough, Jessica had little to do with either of them.

  With her gaze on her feet, she made her way to the kitchen and poked her head around the jamb, relieved to see Mrs. Hamish sitting at the table eating a scone and reading a week-old discarded London Times with a pair of worn spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She was alone.

  When Mrs. Hamish looked up, Jessica smiled, took a still warm scone for herself, and joined the cook on the bench seat.

  “Aren’t you a relief to my poor abused nose, little tiger,” Mrs. Hamish said with a twinkle in her coal-black eyes.

  “Breathe me in now, because I need some more of that grease to coat my hair before dinner. I fear if I plead sickness again, Goforth will call in a physician to bleed me.”

  “Ack, why must you go to such extremes? The way you frown and dress and scrape your hair under that atrocious cap are enough to deter the man. Not to mention the powders of a Drury Lane actress you insist upon using.”

  “If I wasn’t so repugnant, he would have already bartered me off to one of his cronies for a vote.”

  Mrs. Hamish’s normally kind face hardened. “It’s disgraceful is what it is. He’s your father.”

  “Stepfather.” Even calling him that left a sour taste in Jessica’s mouth the scone couldn’t mask. In a softer voice, she said, “Mother will have been gone five years this autumn.”

  “I can scarcely believe it. I remember the day you arrived like it was yesterday. You were spitting fire and full of righteous indignation at anyone who tried to be kind to you. It’s a wonder I didn’t give up on you right then and there.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.” Jessica craved a hug, but it wasn’t the way things were done in England. “I was never meant to be an earl’s sister. What an idiotic twist of fate. How much longer can I avoid Goforth’s notice?”

  “I don’t know, lamb.” Mrs. Hamish sounded more worried than reassuring, which in turn worried Jessica. Blake was still years away from gaining his majority and their freedom from Goforth.

  The previous Lord Penhaven had been mad and a murderer and, most salient to Jessica’s situation, had died without fathering an heir. The Penhaven bloodline had taken a circuitous route through her father to Blake.

  Sometimes she imagined what her life would’ve been like if she had stayed in Pennsylvania. Would she be married to a handsome farmer with a babe on the way? Or would she have moved to the bustle of Philadelphia and worked as a shopgirl? Either way, her life would be moving forward. In England, she was stuck in a mire.

  A knock on the door leading to the garden startled them both. Mrs. Hamish peeked out the window to the walk, then turned to Jessica with wide eyes. “It’s a fine-looking gentleman.”

  She might as well have said a dragon was rapping on the door, looking for a maidenly sacrifice.

  “A what?”

  “A gentleman.”

  “What on earth could he want here?”

  “Nothing good, I’d say. Go on with you.” Mrs. Hamish shooed Jessica away with her apron. “I’ll send him on his way forthwith.”

  Instead of retreating to the safety of her room, she crammed herself into a cupboard, squatting under a shelf of turnips and next to a sack of flour. The padding around her waist made it a tight fit. Her heart had assumed the rhythm of a now familiar dance. It couldn’t be a coincidence she’d spotted a gentleman on the rise and now one had appeared on their doorstep. What did he want?

  “Good afternoon, sir. What might I do for you?” The door was at an awkward angle and Jessica could see nothing, but Mrs. Hamish’s usual no-nonsense Yorkshire brogue did not warm with a welcome.

  “A good day to you to, madam. What is that delightful scent?” The man’s voice was like a luxurious fleece-lined cloak, enveloping and warm.

  “Buns fresh from the oven.”

  “You must be Mrs. Hamish.”

  “Indeed, I am.” The tenor of Mrs. Hamish’s voice indicated her pleasure at being recognized by name.

  “Why, Mrs. Potts has been raving about your buns. Everyone at Wintermarsh is most grateful you were kind enough to pass along your recipe. They have become a favorite with Lady Drummond especially.”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir.”

  Jessica rolled her eyes. The fastest way to Mrs. Hamish’s heart was to compliment her baking. Mrs. Hamish stepped into view, gesturing for the man to enter. Her cheeks were apple red and her smile bright. She had the look of a schoolgirl talking to her beau. What sort of man could create such changes with a deft compliment?

  The man stepped into Jessica’s narrow line of sight. Suddenly she understood, the way a bird understood flying. It was instinctual. Primal. Her breath caught before she even had time to catalog everything that combined to make the man undeniably attractive.

  He removed his hat and ran a hand through his golden hair, leaving it charmingly disheveled, as if that were his planned toilette all along. His smile was wide and white and exuded a warmth she was sure wasn’t faked. From her squatting position, he seemed impossibly tall and broad.

  Even more startling than his appeal was the fact the man was no stranger. It was him. The man from her dreams.

  Simon Bellingham. His Grace. The duke. Her stomach clenched. She might be able to dismiss his charm and good looks as shallow in another man, but he had shown her a kindness years ago. A moment he had no doubt forgotten. A moment she would never forget.

  She leaned forward to drink him in. The door of the cupboard creaked open another inch, and she pulled back into the shadows, but her gaze didn’t waver.

  He visited his sister and brother-in-law, Lord and Lady Drummond, fairly often if the talk around Lipton was to be believed. Jessica had never seen him, but then again, she avoided town and socializing.

  Goforth had made it clear after their arrival in England that the girls she might have enjoyed spending time with—the daughters of the shopkeepers or farmers—were considered beneath their new station in life. The girls from gentry families had struck her as priggish and boring and had made fun of her accent and clothes. Resentment at being plopped into a foreign land had made her sensitive to their teasing, and she hadn’t bothered to mend bridges once she was older and more mature. Her worries eclipsed what to wear to the next dance or hunting for a husband.

  “I’m Simon, the Duke of Bellingham, by the way.” His small bow was somehow deferential and self-depreciating at the same time.

  Mrs. Hamish’s blush spread, and she dropped into a wobbly curtsey. “Oh, Your Grace… I-I apologize… I didn’t realize…”

  “Please.” The duke held up his hands and smiled a crooked little smile that did funny things to Jessica’s stomach. “No need to stand
on ceremony. I was on my way to see Mr. Goforth but was lured in by the delightful aroma coming from your kitchen. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your duties.”

  Mrs. Hamish knew Jessica was hiding in the cupboard, so surely she wouldn’t invite him inside and offer him—

  “Pish! Come and sit. Have some tea and as many buns as you’d like.” Mrs. Hamish bustled to gather a cup and saucer. A kettle of hot water always stood at the ready. They settled near Jessica’s hiding place at the end of the rough wooden table across from one another and in profile to her.

  Considering his illustrious title, he looked oddly at home in the kitchen with Mrs. Hamish. He took a bite of a bun, closed his eyes, and smiled. Delight shone from his face, and Mrs. Hamish’s expression was beatific in her reflected pleasure. He finished the first bun in two bites, reached for another, and ate it just as quickly. After a third, he patted his belly.

  “I have a weakness for sweets. I consider myself quite the connoisseur, and these rank in my five favorite buns. Nothing in London even compares.”

  Mrs. Hamish squirmed on the seat like a child given high marks from a demanding tutor. “I’ll pack some in a basket for you. Would you like me to ring for the butler? He can escort you to the study straightaway if Mr. Goforth is expecting you.”

  Jessica mouthed a silent word of thanks. Cramps along her thighs and calves were making things deuced uncomfortable.

  “I’m in no hurry. I don’t actually have an appointment.” The duke shifted, and a portion of his ease was overtaken by expectation. “Since I’m here, perhaps you can appease my curiosity. I came across a young woman this morning as I was riding. She was too far away for me to call a greeting, but she entered through the kitchens.”

  “Oh?” Mrs. Hamish rose and gathered his plate and teacup, the rattle of china transmitting her sudden discomfort. “What did the young lady look like?”

  “Long chestnut hair. Trim figure. Dressed in a brown frock.” His lips moved as if he had more to stay, but he only shrugged.

  “What would you want with this young lady, Your Grace?” Mrs. Hamish’s voice had lost its bemusement.

  “When I spotted her, she was on Wintermarsh land. Quite a long way from here.”

  “I’ll speak with the servants about wandering off the estate grounds. Do not trouble yourself further, whoever it was will be reprimanded.”

  “No! No need for that.” The duke straightened. “Please. I didn’t intend to cause trouble. The young lady is welcome to make use of the pond. It is seldom, if ever, frequented by Lord Drummond.”

  It was Jessica’s turn to blush. He had seen her in a state of dishabille then. She’d nearly convinced herself she had imagined the prickly feeling of being watched. Dear Lord, she’d been nearly naked. Nearly wasn’t as horrible as completely naked. Still, the cupboard was close to bursting into flames at the flare of her embarrassment.

  “I thought perhaps it was Miss Tremaine?” Uncertainty stumbled in his question.

  She could only stare at Mrs. Hamish with desperation. If she told him the truth, he might relay the information to her stepfather. And then what would happen? Nothing good.

  “Certainly not. The girl you saw is a… maid. Miss Tremaine’s maid. They resemble one another in height and coloring. That’s who it was.” The lie didn’t exactly trip from Mrs. Hamish’s tongue with confidence, but at least she hadn’t told him the truth.

  In fact, it was a stroke of accidental brilliance on Mrs. Hamish’s part. Abby and Jessica did share the same coloring, and from a distance, they might even be mistaken for one another. How close of an inspection had the duke made of her in the lake? Close enough to draw him to the Penhaven kitchens to question the cook.

  Had he found her attractive? Intriguing?

  Her heart leaped and then promptly splatted into reality. Jessica touched the lace edge of her mobcap. What did it matter? The Duke of Bellingham wouldn’t give her a second glance as Miss Tremaine.

  “I suspected the woman might be a servant here.” A hint of red burnished his high cheekbones. It only added to his appeal.

  His features were similar to her memories but blunter and more masculine. Straight nose, strong jaw, blue eyes, thick blond hair. What she didn’t remember was his body being so broad and muscular. The way he was sitting with his legs splayed wide accentuated the pull of buckskins over his hard thighs with no hint of the paunch that so many other men accrued with age.

  He rose and fed the brim of his hat through his hands. “I don’t suppose Miss Tremaine is home and receiving? I would like to renew our acquaintance.”

  Panic—or was that excitement?—shot through her.

  “I don’t believe she is receiving. She suffers from megrims, you see.”

  It had been Jessica’s mother who’d suffered from the debilitating headaches, but she applauded Mrs. Hamish’s quick thinking.

  “That’s quite unfortunate.”

  “Why don’t I ring for—”

  The duke stepped out of her range of vision. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Hamish. I’ll make my way around to the front. No need for anyone to know I stopped in the kitchens.”

  Mrs. Hamish tripped over her goodbyes and good wishes for the duke as the door opened and closed.

  “You can come out now,” Mrs. Hamish said after a few beats of silence.

  Jessica groaned and levered herself out to sit on the floor and shake her legs. Pins and needles tingled along her calves and thighs.

  Mrs. Hamish stood looking down, her hands planted on her hips. “Mark my words. This bodes trouble.”

  “How so? Thanks to your quick thinking, he believes the woman he saw at the pond is a maid. He won’t pursue the issue further.” Jessica grabbed the edge of the table and hauled herself up.

  Mrs. Hamish barked a laugh. “You didn’t see the look in his eyes. He won’t give up so readily.”

  “Even if he pursues the matter, he will find no such maid.”

  “Unless he attempts to make contact with Miss Tremaine and discovers you are one and the same.”

  “That is highly unlikely. He’ll see this”—Jessica gestured to her falsely stocky form—“and realize I am not the same woman. Even though I am.”

  “Nevertheless, you must refuse to see him if he calls again.” Mrs. Hamish’s voice took on the scolding tone of a mother. “And never return to that pond. If I’d known you were venturing so far from the estate, I would have cautioned against it. It’s a wonder someone hasn’t caught you before now.”

  Jessica had been going to the pond for years without spotting a single soul. There wouldn’t be so many little red squirrels or antlered deer roaming freely if men had left their musty scent. She had always felt safe to shed her disguise and enjoy the wilds.

  Her time at the pond cleansed her body and soul and provided her a peace she never found at the Penhaven estate. The thought of never returning drew tears, but she blinked them away. Tears had never changed her fortunes.

  The duke would forget about her soon enough. Instead of relief, she only felt regret at what would never be.

  Chapter 3

  The spoon slipped from Jessica’s numb fingers, splashing soup onto the starched white tablecloth. “A house party? And we are invited?”

  Edward Goforth’s smile somehow managed to make him look even more pompous than usual, which was quite the feat. His once handsome features had coarsened due to excess drink and rich foods. “Last week of September. I told you my star was rising. Speaking against the poverty laws has garnered attention, and now look what’s happened. Excellent, excellent.”

  “But doesn’t the duke support the poverty laws?” Jessica wouldn’t admit to her stepfather that she pored over the Times for any mention of Simon. It was a habit she had maintained since their encounter so many years ago. Through the brief mentions in the papers and around Lipton, she had pieced together an indistinct picture of his life.

  “The duke. Pah!” Goforth slammed his glass of wine down. “It’s tru
e he has made his opinion known, but there may be an opportunity to press my agenda with Lord Drummond and whomever else they have invited. I could turn the tide and gain favor. The connections could prove invaluable.”

  Jessica’s appetite, always scarce when her stepfather was in residence, vanished entirely. She daubed at the soup stain on the tablecloth. “I’ll remain here. I would only be a liability.”

  Goforth’s grunt was one of agreement, and Jessica’s shoulders slumped slightly, even if she couldn’t pinpoint the direction of her emotions. Relief, yes. But it was tinged with something darker and less pure.

  Goforth snapped his fingers, and the footman moved forward to clear their soup and serve the fish course. “I would leave you here, but Lady Drummond personally added a note requesting your attendance. Apparently, she is looking forward to bettering your acquaintance.”

  Bettering their acquaintance? That implied they were acquainted at all. Which they were not, beyond their paths crossing a handful of times over the years in Lipton. The few invitations Lady Drummond had issued early on had been declined with no small amount of regret. Jessica would have dearly loved a friend, especially one so close with the duke, but she couldn’t risk the connection. The last invitation had been soon after her mother died.

  What did the invitation mean after so long a time? Was Mrs. Hamish correct? Was this Simon’s way of manipulating her into his sphere? No, not her. Her maid.

  Goforth pointed a knife at her. “You are not to embarrass me. And it should go without saying, but you are to stay away from Bellingham.”

  The laugh that escaped her was one of disbelief. “The duke is not likely to spare me a second glance.” Or at least he wouldn’t after seeing her in her unfashionable frocks with her disguise fully in place.

  “True enough. He is a man of refined tastes, but he might be inclined to use you to get to me. Nevertheless, there will be other gentlemen of means there, and you must look presentable. Dress appropriately, and for goodness’ sake, have your maid wash your hair more often so you can get rid of that horrid mobcap.” Goforth didn’t bother to hide his disgust. “You act like you’ll break out in hives if you are touched by water or soap.”