A Daring Deception

by Trentham, Laura

  “This morning on the hunt and at luncheon. I only just escaped, and not a moment too soon.”

  Minerva raised her brows and fixed Simon with a glare. “When Goforth offered to instruct Rafe on his investments, I thought a murder was imminent. I’m not sure what the devil is going on with you, but I am sure it has nothing to do with Goforth. What is your interest in Miss Tremaine?”

  “You could have any one of the most beautiful women in the ton,” Rafe said incredulously.

  Rafe spoke the absolute truth. Yet his tone jarred Simon’s nerves. Miss Tremaine might not be a diamond of the first water, but she had shown more depth of feeling than any of the other ladies present. “There’s more to someone than the way they look. I should think you of all people would realize that.”

  Rafe’s hand loosened around Simon’s jacket, leaving crease marks. His features slid into a more contemplative cast. He glanced toward Minerva. “It seems you were correct, Minerva.”

  Simon silently cursed himself roundly. He’d been played by two masters. “I’m not interested in wedding Miss Tremaine. However, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Having Goforth as a stepfather must be a nightmare.”

  “Indeed, it must be,” Lady Wyndam said darkly, adding her glare to the others already aimed in his direction. “Which is why something must be done.”

  Feeling set upon by all angles, Simon crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his chin toward Lord Wyndam. “What have you to add, my lord?”

  Wyndam threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t throw your daggers at me, old boy. I’m here merely for the brandy.”

  Simon harrumphed, but the shot of humor dissipated a good portion of the tension. A brandy sounded like a fine idea. He moved to the sideboard and poured himself a finger’s worth. “Obviously, a plan has been hatched, or I wouldn’t have been summoned as abruptly as I was.”

  “Delilah and I had a most interesting discussion with Miss Tremaine this morning. Her stepfather is planning her debut during the spring season. From what he has insinuated, it seems he is anxious to make an advantageous match—for him.” The disgust at men’s machinations was clear in Minerva’s tone.

  Imagining the painfully awkward Miss Tremaine at the mercy of the ton and Goforth provoked sympathy pains in Simon. “This party has been difficult enough. The ton will eat her alive.”

  “Indeed. I can’t in good conscience allow the poor girl to enter a ballroom, or any other room for that matter, dressed as she is now. She’s a walking disaster.”

  “Too true,” Delilah seconded with a shake of her head.

  “Perhaps you could drop a discreet word in Goforth’s ear about her need for a sponsor,” Rafe said.

  “She doesn’t need a sponsor; she needs a fairy godmother.” Delilah exchanged a wry glance with Minerva.

  Minerva tapped her chin, her lips tipping into the flash of a smile. “The situation isn’t dire enough to require magical intervention. She merely needs a guide through the minefield of society.”

  “She has a rather fine bone structure,” Delilah said. “A proper-fitting dress and stays would show her figure to its finest, and a new hairstyle would not be amiss either. A good lady’s maid would go a long way to improving her looks.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with her maid.” The words shot out before Simon could even consider the damage. He tempered his voice. “I mean, I’m sure her maid is skilled. It seems to me Miss Tremaine is doing her best to hide any positive attributes.”

  Delilah’s eyes widened. “Your brother has a point, Minerva. I wonder if she is deliberately downplaying her appearance to avoid being seen as a valuable bartering piece by her stepfather.”

  “Interesting theory.” Minerva rose and paced. “If true, her resistance to any offer of help on our parts makes more sense.”

  Relieved his slip of the tongue had not gained Minerva’s notice, Simon kept his tone even. “Goforth would not hesitate to leverage any advantage to his cause with no thought to Miss Tremaine’s feelings on the matter of marriage.”

  Minerva stopped to pour herself another glass. “The complications mount.”

  “Perhaps it’s not our place to interfere in another family’s business,” Simon said.

  Minerva whirled around, her skirts swishing. “And where would we be if that had been Rafe’s attitude all those years ago?”

  Simon opened his mouth and then closed it, his gaze skating to the tips of his boots. He didn’t want to imagine the path of his life if Rafe hadn’t inserted himself in their business, even if it had been most unwelcome at the time.

  “How can I help?” Simon glanced up at his sister in time to catch her satisfied smile.

  “I’m not sure yet, but Miss Tremaine obviously holds you in high esteem.”

  “She said that?”

  “She told us a bit of your meeting many years ago. You made quite an impression.” Delilah twisted around in her chair to gaze up at him.

  The light dusting of freckles and her guileless brown eyes gave her a suggestion of youthful innocence. Considering Lord and Lady Wyndam had met over a dead body and eventually caught the murderer, Delilah was not a woman to be underestimated.

  “Miss Tremaine certainly made an indelible impression on me that day. She was a girl of spirit. I pity what has happened to her now,” Simon said.

  “If we’re correct in our assumptions, she doesn’t want or require your pity,” Delilah said lightly.

  “Which means we will need to be delicate in our overtures.” Minerva regained her seat. “If we can make her presentable, she can make a good match and get out from under Goforth’s thumb.”

  “Unless Goforth barters her away for votes first,” Rafe said darkly. “I wouldn’t put anything past the man. He has attempted to turn me against Simon. The brazenness is breathtaking.”

  “Then we will need to be even more brazen and smarter. It shouldn’t be that difficult,” Delilah said pertly before leaning over to discuss the particulars with Minerva.

  Simon joined Wyndam and Rafe at the mantel. “How likely are their schemes to end in disaster?”

  Wyndam’s eyes crinkled with the smile he aimed toward his wife. “I pity Goforth. He’s used to charging straight at his opponents. He won’t even see those two coming.”

  Rafe shook his head with a similar affectionate smile on his face. “Minerva will have him retreating to lick his wounds before the house party has concluded. It will be lovely to watch.”

  An ache spread from Simon’s chest to hollow out his stomach. Would he ever find a woman who inspired such devotion and admiration? His mind went immediately to Miss Blackwell.

  Had he found her? Perhaps, but his future could not include marriage to Miss Blackwell. Even with the uncertainty, the anticipation of seeing her that evening quickened his blood and filled his heart with gladness and hope.

  * * *

  Simon was once again seated by Miss Tremaine at dinner. Damien shot him a look of sympathy from across the table, but Simon didn’t mind. Miss Tremaine was one of the few women not in pursuit of his hand, and she was surprisingly easy to converse with.

  She was, however, difficult to look at this evening. Her dress was yellow, which was a favorite color of his. But not this yellow. It was a mustardy yellow that would make any woman look a sallow, sick mess.

  Delilah’s speculation about Miss Tremaine deliberating attempting to look unappealing had him inspecting her closer. Her torso was rectangular and distinctly unfeminine and didn’t match her lithe neck and narrow shoulders. Could she be wearing artificial padding instead of stays? It wasn’t unheard of. Gentlemen often padded the shoulders of their jackets to appear more manly. It was difficult to judge her hair as it was pulled under a wretched-looking cap a decade or more out of style.

  Delilah was correct about Miss Tremaine’s high cheekbones though. A fine brow peeked out from under the lace edge of her cap, and her nose was pert and attractive. In contrast, her lips were colorless and drawn into
a thin line, and dark circles stood out in her pale face.

  He cleared his throat. “You’re looking lovely tonight, Miss Tremaine.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I had this dress commissioned for just such an auspicious occasion.” While her voice was flat, the baleful glance she shot him before taking up her soup spoon was full of dark humor.

  He was becoming more and more convinced her appearance was indeed deliberately unappealing. “I’m surprised you have retained your American accent all these years.”

  When she didn’t answer immediately, he glanced over to see her spoon frozen midway between the bowl and her mouth, a myriad of emotions lying across her face. “I apologize. We can discuss something less—”

  “No, I don’t wish to discuss the weather or hunting or horseflesh. Your question merely took me by surprise, Your Grace. Generally, no one is interested in my life before coming to England, and my stepfather does his best to ignore our American roots. It is a dirty little secret.”

  “Since the end of the war, relations are less strained between our two countries. I hope you haven’t faced rudeness. After all, your brother is a peer.”

  “I don’t believe my birthplace is what invites rudeness.” While she spoke matter-of-factly, a fair measure of hurt feelings were obvious.

  “Allow me to apologize.”

  Her laugh was throaty and unexpected and niggled something in his memory. “You have not been rude, and as much as you wish to, you can’t take responsibility for everyone less fortunate than you.”

  He bristled slightly. “If it is within my power to shift the arc of justice, then shouldn’t I do everything to see it done?”

  She continued to delicately sip her soup, letting the silence between them crescendo before finally saying, “It isn’t wrong. It is admirable.” She put her spoon down and tapped her mouth with her napkin. “But your type of justice doesn’t move swiftly enough.”

  “How so?”

  “You are attempting to change society through its laws, but men like my stepfather will continue to thwart you until you must compromise your vision to see any good done.”

  She had distilled his fears into an arrow of truth that pierced his hope. His appetite gone, he pushed his bowl away. An attentive footman cleared the half-finished bowl. “What do you suggest I do? Give up and become a profligate rake like so many of my peers?”

  “Of course not. But don’t be surprised if the people grow impatient and rise up to change their own circumstances.”

  The service of the next course interrupted their conversation. Simon mulled over her opinion. The end of the Napoleonic Wars had seen England enter an economic slump. The corn laws had only exacerbated the problem. Tensions had come to a head the previous fall in Manchester. Dubbed the Peterloo Massacre, the insurrection had driven Parliament to crack down on reformists. Simon had vehemently opposed the acts, but to no avail.

  With a crusted fish staring up at him, Simon put his fork down. “I suppose, being American, you have a unique perspective about the common people rising up.”

  She shrugged, the yellow ribbon decorating the cap sleeves of her dress fluttering. The ribbon itself was a pretty shade and contrasted with the ghastly color of her gown, but what was more interesting was the slenderness of her arm and delicateness of her wrist. It seemed obvious now that Miss Tremaine was in hiding.

  “I suppose I do have an independent streak. I’m not sure I can attribute it to my American birth or simply being my father’s daughter.” Her lips tipped slightly up before thinning once more.

  “He was a rebel?”

  “He left England with little coin and a dream of owning his own farm. It took a few years of hard work, but we lived a comfortable life.” She gestured around them with a shake of her head. “Nothing like this, of course, but I never wanted for anything as a child.”

  “I suppose it was quite a shock to arrive at Penhaven.”

  “The notion of a house with more servants than family members still seems ridiculous.”

  “English society is built on remnants of the feudal system. The villages rely on jobs in the big houses.”

  “There were no estates in my village. Everyone worked together and supported one another if a family fell into difficulties.” Her brows drew downward and cast shadows both seen and unseen across her features.

  “Did your family fall into difficulties after your father passed?” He kept his voice low, although as loudly as Goforth was discoursing to the entire table, the man would remain oblivious.

  She toyed with her fork, drawing his attention to her hands. They were delicately formed and graceful without the dingy gloves to conceal them.

  “Mother didn’t want for coin, but company, and Goforth was there to offer his support.” Her bitterness made his stomach turn in sympathy.

  “He married your mother for her money?” It was a common enough occurrence in the ton. Simon counted himself lucky to not be burdened with the debt so many of his peers struggled with.

  She gave a shake of her head. “I was young and wasn’t privy to the secrets of their marriage. They were happy enough for a time, but not for long. It was only when we arrived here that Goforth got his first taste of what social standing will buy in terms of power and influence.”

  Goforth’s booming laugh had her cringing, her shoulders curling inward as if she could protect herself.

  Simon took a sip of his wine and searched for something less serious to discuss. “Surely you have enjoyed having servants tend to your needs just a little.”

  At that precise moment, the footman cleared their plates and replaced them with another plate with a selection of meat.

  “I find having a barrage of men and women who will never be my friends more uncomfortable than enjoyable. In fact—please don’t laugh—but I had thought to help cook the family meals on our arrival.”

  “Say you didn’t!” Simon tossed his head back with a hearty laugh, drawing nearby eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t help but imagine the reaction.”

  Miss Tremaine covered an answering smile with her hand. He had the urge to draw it away. “The servants stared at me as I collected flour and sugar from the larder. Mrs. Hamish pulled me aside and explained that it wasn’t at all the thing for a lady to do, and the servants would take it as a grave insult. I was humiliated.”

  Her overstep had been egregious and would have lost her respect among the servants who had their own social hierarchy. “Were you ever forgiven?”

  “Mrs. Hamish smoothed things over as much as possible. She has always been kind.”

  The opening she provided was too tempting to deny. “I hope your lady’s maid is a loyal and kind servant as well.”

  Miss Tremaine fumbled her knife, the clatter quieting the conversation around them for a few long seconds. Once the murmur of voices picked up, she said softly, “Abby has been good to me.”

  “How long has she been in your employ?”

  “Quite some time.” Her attention was on moving her food around her plate before fixing him with a narrowed glance. “Why are you interested in my maid, Your Grace?”

  His mind blanked for a long, embarrassing moment.

  Chapter 9

  Of course, Jessica was well aware of why he was interested in her maid. Still, she was curious as to what excuse he might produce. Plus, she rather enjoyed making a duke squirm. And was that a flush coasting up his neck and into his cheeks?

  After stuttering out a few inane words, he said, “I know my sister’s maid offers much support to her, and I hope you enjoy the same.”

  “Indeed. Abby is most supportive. It’s kind of you to be so interested in my well-being.” Jessica was teasing him, yet with an unexpectedly bitter bite.

  Simon speared a piece of succulent pork and stuffed his mouth, precluding further conversation.

  Meeting the duke again as Miss Blackwell would be foolish. No, beyond foolish. It would be idiotic. Nothing good could come of their association. And Simon’s not
-so-subtle probing only reinforced the logic. His interest in her as a maid could only be prurient.

  From this moment forward, Jessica planned to be as bland and uninteresting as a baby’s first pudding. Already she had intercepted too many curious glances from Lady Drummond. Their conversation earlier in the day had cut too close to the truth.

  Dinner came to an end. Once again, the men would remain in the dining area and gathered where footmen were laying out decanters, sharing jokes and companionably discussing the fate of the world.

  The ladies were filing out in twos and threes and headed to the drawing room where ratafia and gossip would be served. With her gaze on Goforth, Jessica sidled to the door and slipped out with a sigh of relief. The solitude of her room beckoned.

  The ambush was unexpected and came with a smile. Lady Drummond linked her arm through Jessica’s and steered her away from the staircase with surprising strength. There was no escape without seeming churlish and rude.

  “The servants must take their dinner, so there is no use retreating to your room with no maid to see to you. Come and enjoy a glass of spirits.” Lady Drummond deposited her on a settee in the middle of the room and pressed a glass into her hand. “Drink and be merry, my dear.”

  Lady Drummond clinked their glasses and sipped, her stance relaxed in the corner of the settee as she watched the younger ladies flitter around, exchanging whispers and giggles. Were they laughing at Jessica? She tightened her grip on the delicate stem of the crystal glass and sipped to cover her discomfiture.

  The sweet spirits hit her empty stomach and zipped straight to her head, fuzzing her thoughts. Before she realized it, her glass was empty and Lady Drummond was refilling it from a decanter on the nearby side table. She smiled her thanks at Lady Drummond before she realized what she was doing and resumed frowning.

  A group of three young ladies gathered close by, chattering about dresses, desirable peers on the mart, and whispered speculation on the marriage bed. They compared notes on employing a fan flirtatiously, talking a gentleman into a garden, and obtaining a kiss. Two young women even discussed a current on-dit involving a viscount and his mistress.