by Amanda Quick
The ton would be even more astounded to learn that she had no intention of marrying him.
But no one was even speculating on such bizarre possibilities because, as usual, Society was two steps behind the notorious Earl of Masters.
Iphiginia slipped through the open doors and escaped to the cool darkness of the terrace. A handful of other people had drifted outside. They glanced at her as she emerged from the ballroom.
Iphiginia ignored the interested gazes and sought the seclusion of the far corner, of the terrace. She needed a few moments of privacy. It had been a trying day and even more trying evening.
The sound of a footstep behind her and the clearing of a masculine throat told Iphiginia that she no longer had this section of the terrace to herself.
“Mrs. Bright?” Bennet said in a very low voice.
Iphiginia turned slowly to face him. She summoned a smile. “Good evening, Mr. Cloud.”
“I saw you come out here.” Bennet glanced awkwardly toward the brilliantly lit ballroom. Then he looked back at her. He squared his shoulders and took a resolute breath. The expression on his face was one of stern determination.
“You remind me of your brother when you do that,” Iphiginia said dryly.
Bennet scowled. “When I do what?”
“Never mind. What was it you wanted?”
“Mrs. Bright, I will he blunt. The whole world is saying that my brother intends to marry a respectable young lady of the ton. But I know the truth.”
“You do?”
“He told me that it is you he plans to wed,” Bennet blurted. “It is a crazed notion, but I know him well and I fear that it is not beyond the realm of possibility that he would do something so… so…”
“So what?”
“So impossible as to wed a most improper female simply because he has taken a fancy to do so. He has no regard for Society’s opinion or for propriety or tradition.”
Iphiginia studied Bennet’s earnest features. “I have heard that your brother has withdrawn his objection to a marriage between you and Juliana Dorchester.”
“What in blazes has that got to do with anything?”
“Masters told me that he has many grave concerns about an alliance between you and Miss Dorchester. Yet he concluded that you were no longer a boy in need of his guidance. He feels that you are a mature man who has the right to make his own decisions.”
“He should feel that way. I am a mature man.” Bennet’s gloved hands clenched and unclenched. “But my own plans for marriage have nothing to do with this discussion.”
“Against his better judgment but out of respect for you, your brother has elected to stay out of your affairs. Don’t you owe him the same courtesy?”
“Damnation, this is an entirely different matter. Miss Dorchester is a perfectly respectable young lady without a single blemish on her reputation. An innocent. She is above reproach. Marcus had no right to raise any objections to my intention to ask for her hand.”
“You think not?”
“No offense, madam, but you are hardly in the same category as Juliana Dorchester. You are a woman of the world, if you do not mind my stating the obvious.”
“Your brother is a man of the world.”
“Yes, he is, but he is certainly not acting as though he were,” Bennet retorted. “He appears to be smitten by you, Mrs. Bright. I vow, you have put some sort of spell upon him.”
“What on earth makes you say that?”
“Why else would he violate his most closely held rule? He once vowed never to remarry. I confess, I had hoped he would change his mind. But I never dreamed he would do something so mad as to marry his mistress.”
That was too much. Iphiginia was at the end of her tether. She had been under a strain for too long and now something inside her snapped.
“I am sick of hearing about Masters and his rules,” she said forcefully. “He is not the only one who has chosen to live by his own rules. I happen to possess one or two myself.”
“One can only speculate about the sort of rules a woman such as yourself would choose to honor. Do you have one which states that you will take only wealthy men as paramours?”
“I do not need a wealthy man to take care of me. In case you have not paid attention, Bennet, I control a rather handsome fortune of my own.”
“Maybe it’s the title you’re after.”
“I assure you, gaining a title is the least of my concerns. I value my freedom and my rights as an independent widow far too highly to surrender them for a mere title.”
“Then just what sort of rules do you abide by, Mrs. Bright?”
“There is only one that need concern you. I have an ironclad rule which states that I will never, ever marry a man who does not love me. And as your brother has never once said that he loves me, it does not require any great intellect to perceive that Masters is perfectly safe from me.”
Bennet stared at her. “Mrs. Bright—”
“Begone, sir. I hate discussions of rules. I wish to be left alone.” Iphiginia spun around on her heel and rushed toward the steps that led down into the garden.
She ran straight into Marcus, who had just emerged from behind a hedge.
“Ooph.” Iphiginia staggered and lost her balance as she crashed against his broad chest.
Marcus steadied her while he looked at his brother. “What the bloody hell is going on here?”
Iphiginia’s head came up quickly when she heard the dangerous edge of steel in his voice. “’Tis nothing of any great import, sir. Your brother was merely concerned for your future well-being, just as you are concerned for his.”
“My brother will keep his opinions on the subject to himself,” Marcus said. “Is that understood, Bennet?”
“She will make a fool of you, if you allow her to do so, “ Bennet said savagely. “She is infinitely more clever than Nora. Can you not see that?”
“Any idiot can see it. It’s one of the reasons I intend to wed her,” Marcus said. “I cannot abide brainless females.”
“You cannot possibly expect to turn her into a countess, Marcus. She would be a disgrace to the title.”
In spite of her desire to put an end to the dreadful scene, Iphiginia took umbrage at that remark. “Now hold on one moment here, Mr. Cloud. Your brother was a farmer, a man who worked with his hands for years before he came into the earldom. He has managed very nicely with a title. I assure you I would have no trouble at all playing the part of a countess, if I so chose.”
“Quite right,” Marcus murmured.
“This is ridiculous,” Bennet snapped.
“You are the one who is behaving in a ridiculous fashion,” Marcus said. “Now take yourself off before I lose my temper.”
“This is beyond anything. I can only pray that you told me the truth about your own rules, Mrs. Bright, and that you will have the decency to get out of my brother’s life.” Bennet whirled and stalked back toward the ballroom.
“You go too far, brother.” Marcus made to ease Iphiginia out of his path. She panicked and seized hold of the lapels of his finely cut coat.
“Marcus, no. I do not want you and your brother quarreling because of me.”
“Do not concern yourself, my dear. I shall deal with Bennet.”
“Bloody hell, Marcus, I vow, if you go after him, I shall leave Town this very night.”
He paused, frowning. “What are you saying?”
“I mean it, my lord. I will not allow you to stage a scene with Bennet because of me. He was doing no more than what you tried to do when you learned that he wished to marry Miss Dorchester. He was attempting to protect you.”
“He is behaving like a pompous little prig. Who the devil does he think he is?”
“He is your brother and he is terrified that you are about to make a horrendous mistake. Does that sound familiar, Marcus? You were behaving in precisely the same manner just yesterday.”
“It is hardly the same thing.”
“It is precise
ly the same thing.” Sensing that she had won the small battle, at least for the moment, Iphiginia stepped back. “Come, my lord. Let us take a walk in the garden. I find I am in need of fresh air.”
Marcus hesitated, clearly torn. He gazed at the open glass doors of the ballroom, then shrugged and took Iphiginia’s arm. “Very well.”
Iphiginia heaved a silent sigh of relief. Disaster had been averted for the moment, she thought, but sooner or later it would strike. She could feel it looming over her head.
She had hoped that she would have the remainder of the Season in which to savor the love of her life, but it seemed that such was not to be the case. She could not allow Marcus’s relationship with his brother to be ruined because of her.
The time had come to think about leaving Town.
“What would you say if I were to suggest that we take an extended tour of America?” Iphiginia said to Amelia the following morning at breakfast.
Amelia looked up from the morning papers. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
“But there are no classical antiquities in America. Everything there is new. I have heard that the people live in little wooden houses of the most primitive sort.”
“Rustic, primitive ruins can be quite inspiring, artistically speaking.”
“Rubbish.” Amelia folded the newspaper, set it aside, and regarded Iphiginia with a perceptive gaze. “Are you thinking of running away from this affair in which you find yourself embroiled?”
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
“Need I remind you that it is not so simple as all that? We are in the middle of arranging the finances for Bright Place. We cannot deal with the details of such a large project if we are in America. It takes weeks to get a message across the Atlantic.”
Iphiginia sighed. “I suppose you are right.”
“If you wish to remove yourself from the situation, I suggest we retire to Deepford.”
“Never.” Iphiginia shuddered at the thought. “The wilds of America would he preferable to the suffocating rules of Deepford. I shall never go back.”
“Then you must think of another place.” Amelia reached for the coffeepot. “My this sudden panic? I was under the impression you believed that you were in control of the situation.”
“Things are getting out of hand,” Iphiginia muttered. “In what way?” Amelia’s eyes widened in sudden concern. “Good heavens, you aren’t pregnant, are you?” Iphiginia stilled. “No, of course not.” At least, I don’t think so. Iphiginia crossed her fingers in her lap.
Amelia frowned. “I imagine that Masters, being a man of the world, is cautious in such matters.”
“Uh, yes.” Iphiginia picked up a spoon and stirred her coffee very rapidly. “Yes, of course.”
“Tell me, does he employ those odd French apparatuses fashioned from sheep gut? The ones the Italian countess told us about?”
“Amelia. “
“I have always been rather curious to see one.” Amelia looked at her with brief interest. “The countess also mentioned that a woman could use a small sponge soaked in some astringent liquid.”
“I really do not want to discuss this at the breakfast table, Amelia.”
“Oh. “ Amelia shrugged. “Some other time, perhaps.”
“Perhaps.” Right after she had discussed the subject with Marcus, Iphiginia thought grimly. He had never once mentioned the possibility of pregnancy. And she, heaven help her, had never given the matter much thought.
An image of herself holding Marcus’s babe in her arms formed in her mind. It was such an intensely powerful vision that she caught her breath with a sense of wonder.
The infant would have miniature versions of his father’s fine, strong hands. He would have his father’s brilliant, intelligent amber eyes and broad forehead.
He would be beautiful and she would love him as much as she loved his father.
“Iphiginia? Did you hear what I said?”
Iphiginia blinked and brought herself back to reality. “I beg your pardon?”
“I suggested that if you are concerned about your association with Masters, we might consider removing ourselves to Bath. I have always wanted to take the waters.”
“I shall consider the notion.” Iphiginia set her spoon precisely on the saucer. “Won’t you miss being able to work so closely with Mr. Manwaring?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“It strikes me that matters have gone very efficiently thus far with Bright Place primarily because Mr. Manwaring is situated nearby and able to meet with us at a moment’s notice. Business will not he nearly so convenient if we remove ourselves to Bath. We shall have to depend upon the post and the occasional visit.”
“We managed to work quite nicely with him during our years in Deepford.” Amelia picked up the newspaper and frowned over one of the articles. “It’s true that having Mr. Manwaring in the vicinity has made things go more smoothly. But I am sure we shall be able to carry on business from Bath.”
Iphiginia stifled a small sigh. Perhaps she had been wrong when she had concluded that Amelia and Manwaring were made for each other.
Lord only knew that she was not nearly so clever about such matters as she had once thought. The situation in which she found herself was a perfect example of how muddled affairs of the heart could become.
Until now she had assumed that her problem was that she loved a man who could not bend his own rules far enough to allow himself to admit that he loved her.
But perhaps the situation was even worse than she had thought. Perhaps Marcus had become so chained by his own rules that he could never love any woman again.
“Damn you, Nora,” Iphiginia whispered. Amelia looked up. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” Iphiginia drummed her fingers on the table. One thing was for certain. She must take care not to become pregnant. It would be the last straw, for then Marcus would surely insist on marriage. And she would have no choice but to wed him for the sake of the babe.
“Do you know something, Amelia? Being a mistress is a bloody complicated business.”
“I am told that being a wife is even more difficult,” Amelia said.
“Yes, I suppose that is quite true.” But if Marcus loved her, Iphiginia thought wistfully, she would take the chance.
———
The note was waiting for Iphiginia on the white velvet seat of her carriage that afternoon when she returned front a shopping expedition. She was seized with a sense of foreboding when she saw the folded sheet of foolscap.
She waited until the coachman had closed the door before she reached out to pick up the note. She saw with relief that there was no sign of black wax or a phoenix seal.
Slowly she unfolded the note and read the contents.
My Dearest Pandora,
If you wish to open the box and discover the truth about the past, present, and future you must come to Number Nineteen Lamb Lane off Pall Mall tonight on the stroke of midnight. Come alone. Tell no one and all will be made clear. If you do not come, or if you fail to come alone, someone you care about will suffer the consequences.
Yrs. A Friend
Iphiginia’s fingers trembled as she carefully refolded the note.
Your sister. Your aunt.
The words seemed to burn straight through the paper. The threat was not the least bit subtle. Whoever knew that she possessed a sister and that Zoe was her aunt, knew everything, Iphiginia realized.
My Dearest Pandora…
Iphiginia quickly reopened the note and studied the salutation. Pandora was a clear reference to the Greek tale of the lady who had given in to temptation to open the magic box and in so doing had unleashed chaos and woe.
Iphiginia felt a kinship with Pandora at that moment. Whoever had sent the note had apparently noted the similarity.
Iphiginia had given in to the temptation of an affair with Marcus and trouble was now abroad in her world.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gas l
ights had not yet been installed in Lamb Lane. The narrow street, lined with small shops, huddled in the shadows. The pale glow of a fitful moon provided just enough illumination to reveal that the hackney which carried Iphiginia was the only vehicle in the vicinity.
The coach came to a halt with a clatter of wheels and harness. Iphiginia started when the coachman rapped on the roof to announce their destination.
“Number Nineteen Lamb Lane” the man called loudly.
Iphiginia gathered her dark cloak around her and pulled the hood over her head. She opened the carriage door and cautiously descended to the pavement.
“Do not forget,” she said to the man on the box. “I have paid you to wait for me.”
“I’d be waitin’,” the coachman muttered in a surly voice. “But there’d be an extra fee if ye bring any of yer clients back ‘ere.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Ye heard me. If yer thinkin’ o’ usin’ me coach fer a bedchamber tonight, ye’ll ‘ave to pay me a fair rent. I’ll give ye the usual hourly rate I give the other girls.”
Iphiginia felt herself turn hot with embarrassment or anger. “What on earth do you think I am about, my good man?”
“Same as what most of the other wenches are about at this time o’ night in this part o’ Town. Business. Go on, now. Just keep in mind that I’ll be wantin’ me fair share if ye use me coach.”
She did not have the time to deliver a scathing lecture to a drunken coachman. Iphiginia turned away, disgusted, and studied the darkened entrance to Number Nineteen. Here was just enough moonlight to make out the sign over the door.
DR. HARDSTAFF’s MUSEUM
OF THE GODDESSES OF MANLY VIGOR
LEARN THE SECRET AND AUTHENTIC
INVIGORATING POWER OF TRUE GODDESSES OF ANTIQUITY
It appeared that her curiosity about Dr. Hardstaff’s museum was about to be satisfied, Iphiginia thought.
A glance over her shoulder assured her that the coachman was still waiting in the street. She saw that the carriage lamps burned with a reassuring glow.
Iphiginia went toward the darkened premises of Number Nineteen. She wished Marcus were with her. Or even Amelia or Zoe. Anyone at all, for that matter.
